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information  on  a  variety  of  topics  which  the  Archbishop  brings  forward,  must 
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with  an  Introduction  and  Occasional  Observations  upon  the  Condition  of 
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OR    A    VOYAGE    ROUND    THE  WORLD, 

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OR  THE  NORTHERN  CIRCUIT. 
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FRAGMENTS 

FROM 

GERMAN  PROSE  WRITERS. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/fragmentsfromger0-1aust_0 


FRAGMENTS 


FROM 

GERMAN  PROSE  WRITERS. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

SARAH  AUSTIN. 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

No.  200  Broadway. 

1841. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
FOLSOM,  WELLS,  AND  THURSTON, 

PRINTERS  TO   THE  UNIVERSITY. 


ML 
Jwrz~ 


PREFACE. 


I  cannot  send  this  little  volume  into  the  world  with- 
out cautioning  my  readers  against  a  misapprehen- 
sion of  its  character  and  purpose.  It  would  be  un- 
just to  German  literature  to  regard  it  as  a  selection. 
That  word  implies  more  of  choice  and  order  than  I 
have  been  able  to  bestow.  Many  of  these  fragments 
were  translated  some  years  ago  from  books  which 
chance  threw  in  my  way,  and  without  any  view  to 
their  publication;  they  were  given  to  friends,  who 
were  curious  to  known  what  inducement  there  was 
to  study  the  German  language,  and  thus  found  their 
way  into  several  numbers  of  a  magazine.  It  has 
been  frequently  suggested  to  me,  that  a  reprint  of 
them,  with  additions,  in  a  more  convenient  and  du- 
rable form,  would  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  Eng- 
lish public,  among  whom  a  curiosity  concerning 
the  matter  and  form  of  German  literature  is  great- 


vi 


PREFACE. 


ly  increased  and  increasing.  Upon  this  suggestion  I 
have  at  length  acted,  though  not  without  many  mis- 
givings. 

Germany  and  its  literature  open  a  new  world  to 
one  accustomed  only  to  the  habits  and  the  opinions 
of  England.  They  present  trains  of  thought  as  for- 
eign to  those  with  which  we  are  familiar,  as  their 
forms  of  language  are  to  our  modes  of  expression. 
This  great  dissimilarity  affords,  as  may  readily  be 
imagined,  ample  scope  for  the  misconceptions  and 
misrepresentations  of  ill-informed,  prejudiced,  and 
uncandid  readers ;  indeed,  renders  it  very  difficult 
for  the  most  candid  and  enlightened  to  avoid  them, 
without  a  far  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  coun- 
try than  foreigners  can  usually  acquire.  And  ac- 
cordingly, such  misconceptions  and  misrepresenta- 
tions do  very  widely  prevail. 

It  may  be  said  that  this  is  an  inconvenience  under 
which  all  nations  labor  with  respect  to  each  other. 
To  a  certain  extent  that  is  true ;  but  it  admits  of 
modifications  from  the  peculiarities  of  national  char- 
acter. Few,  I  imagine,  will  assert  that  the  ener- 
getic and  practical  English  mind  has  that  plasticity 
which  enables  it  to  place  itself  in  the  very  circum- 
stances of  another,  and,  as  it  were,  to  adopt  trains 
of  thought,  associations  and  images,  wholly  unlike 


PREFACE. 


vii 


the  accustomed  ones.  We  are  astonished  at  devia- 
tions from  our  own  standard,  and  readily  conclude 
that  all  that  is  unwonted  is  wrong.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  is  no  quality  for  which  Germans  are  more 
remarkable,  than  for  their  power  of  complete  self- 
transplantation  (if  I  may  use  the  word)  to  that  point 
of  view  whence  another  looks  upon  the  world,  and 
of  fair  appreciation  of  varieties  in  thought,  expres- 
sion, and  action.  Hence  their  preeminent  success  as 
translators  ;  and  hence  the  universality  of  their  liter- 
ature, in  which  every  nation  may  find  itself  candidly 
judged  and  faithfully  reflected.  From  these  causes 
it  follows  that  German  writers  have  less  chance  of 
being  understood  here,  than  ours  in  Germany. 

I  have  been  the  more  inclined  to  submit  to  the 
public  these  slight  results  of  a  desultory  reading, 
from  the  hope  that  they  may  contribute  a  little  to 
correct  the  extravagant  notions  which  have  long 
been  current  in  this  country  as  to  the  general  char- 
acter of  German  literature.  In  some  places  it  has 
been  represented  as  all  composed  of  cloudy  philoso- 
phy, dull  pedantry,  or  romantic  horrors  ;  in  others, 
as  deformed  throughout  by  whining  sentimentality, 
impurity,  or  irreligion.  That,  in  the  multitudinous 
offspring  of  the  German  press,  some  of  each  of 
these  misshapen  productions  are  to  be  found,  we 


viii 


PREFACE. 


shall  be  little  inclined  to  doubt,  if  we  consider  the 
disgusting  shapes  assumed  by  portions  of  our  own 
literature ;  but  that  a  sound-hearted  and  intelligent 
country  gives  birth  to  nothing  else,  is  as  little  con- 
sistent with  probability  as  it  is  with  truth. 

These  strange  misrepresentations  are,  it  is  true, 
no  longer  listened  to  by  the  more  instructed  portion 
of  society.  The  translations  and  criticisms  of  some 
of  the  valuable  works  which  Germany  has  con- 
tributed to  every  branch  of  knowledge,  but  espe- 
cially to  philology  and  history,  and  still  better,  the 
study  of  the  originals,  have  produced  a  vast  and 
increasing  change  in  the  more  cultivated  part  of 
public  opinion.  But  though  it  is  rather  the  fashion 
now  to  talk  with  a  vague  admiration  of  German 
literature,  we  are  very  far  as  yet  from  that  intimate 
knowledge  of  it,  upon  which  alone  a  just  estimate 
of  its  merits  can  be  founded. 

It  must  of  course  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible, 
to  characterize  an  entire  national  literature ;  and 
I  am  far  from  imagining  myself  in  any  way  quali- 
fied for  such  a  task.  But  if  I  were  called  upon  to 
point  out  the  quality  which  strikes  me  as  the  most 
prominent  and  pervading  in  that  of  Germany,  I 
should  say  it  is  earnestness.  I  have  ventured  to 
express  an  opinion  that  wit  and  humor  are  not  the 


PREFACE. 


ix 


strong  points  of  German  writers.  Happily  for  them- 
selves and  the  world,  they  are  even  less  successful 
in  persiflage.  Still  more  happily,  they  seem  con- 
scious of  this ;  few  of  them  attempt  a  style  of 
writing  in  which  the  French  display  their  inimitable 
finesse  and  lightness  of  touch,  and  other  nations 
their  bad  taste  and  bitterness  of  feeling. 

What  has  elsewhere  been  said  of  Goethe's  writ- 
ings is,  I  think,  true  of  German  literature  generally, 
—  that  it  is  suggestive.  Those  who  wish  to  close 
a  book  with  the  comfortable  feeling  that  no  new 
idea  has  been  suggested,  and  no  old  one  disturbed, 
will  regard  this  as  very  questionable  praise;  but 
those  who  read  in  order  to  be  made  to  think,  will,  I 
hope,  derive  some  satisfaction  even  from  the  frag- 
ments thus  loosely  thrown  together. 

The  choice  of  these  passages  has  been  deter- 
mined by  considerations  as  various  as  their  charac- 
ter and  their  subjects.  In  some  it  was  the  value  of 
the  matter,  in  others  the  beauty  of  the  form,  that 
struck  me ;  in  some  the  vigorous,  unaffected  good 
sense,  in  others  the  fantastic  or  mystical  charm. 
Some  recalled  familiar  trains  of  thought,  which 
meet  one  in  a  foreign  literature  like  old  friends  in 
a  far  country ;  others  suggested  ideas  altogether  new 
and  strange.    My  readers  must,  therefore,  apply 


X 


PREFACE. 


measures  as  different  as  those  which  I  have  used, 
and  by  no  means  ascribe  to  me  the  intention  of 
recommending  every  opinion  to  their  unqualified 
assent,  or  every  passage  to  their  unqualified  admi- 
ration. 

Still  less  must  they  imagine  that  this  little  collec- 
tion is  intended  to  serve  as  a  guide  for  the  student  in 
the  choice  of  books.  Against  such  a  misconception  I 
must  earnestly  protest.  Though  some  of  the  pas- 
sages are  but  samples  of  the  excellence  of  the  store 
whence  they  are  taken,  others  may  be  regarded  as 
the  rare  flowers  plucked  from  a  field  otherwise 
nearly  barren  or  overgrown  with  weeds. 

I  have  too  much  experience  of  the  indulgence  of 
German  readers  not  to  feel  assured  that,  if  this  little 
book  finds  its  way  among  them,  it  will  be  treated 
better  than  it  deserves.  They  will,  I  hope,  discover 
in  it  the  same  anxiety  to  interpret  their  writers 
faithfully,  for  which  they  have  already  given  me 
credit,  and  which  they  will  accept  as  an  atonement 
for  many  deficiencies. 

But  I  am  perfectly  aware  how  defective  and  plan- 
less such  a  collection  must  appear  to  them  ;  how 
many  of  their  greatest  names  they  will  miss ;  how 
painfully  the  confusion  of  dates,  styles,  and  subjects 
will  strike  such  methodical  compilers.    When  I  see 


PREFACE. 


.Xi 


that  the  names  of  Winckelmann,  Wieland,  Men- 
delssohn, Solger,  Steffens,  and  others  of  equal  or 
nearly  equal  celebrity,  do  not  even  occur  in  my 
list, —  not  to  mention  a  host  whose  works  are 
worthy  of  mention,  and  would  afford  volumes  of 
striking  and  agreeable  extracts,  —  I  feel  as  if  I 
merited  some  reproaches  from  Germany.  But,  I 
must  repeat,  I  have  had  no  extensive  access  to  Ger- 
man books,  and  have  taken  what  fell  in  my  way. 
I  had  translated,  or  marked  for  translation,  several 
longer  passages,  or  entire  essays ;  such  as  Alex.  v. 
Humboldt's  "Physiognomy  of  Plants;"  the  intro- 
duction to  Grimm's  "  German  Mythology  ;  "  J.  von 
Miiller's  "  Battle  of  Sempach ;  "  the  "  Death  of  Con- 
radin  "  from  Raumer's  "  Hohenstauffen  ; "  the  por- 
trait of  Charles  the  Fifth  from  Ranke's  "  Fiirsten  und 
Volker"  (Sovereigns  and  Subjects),  and  others; 
but  I  found  that  I  should  far  exceed  the  limits  of 
this  little  volume,  which  is  all  I  can  venture  to  rec- 
ommend to  the  indulgence  of  the  English  public. 

I  have  added  a  few  notes  at  the  end,  which  re- 
quire a  more  serious  apology  than  any  defects  of 
selection  or  translation,  since  they  contain  the  ex- 
pression of  some  opinions  of  my  own.  These  I  am 
always  reluctant  to  intrude  on  the  public.  But  I 
was  repeatedly  assured  that  such  an  index  raisonne 


» 


xii  PREFACE. 

was  absolutely  necessary  to  the  English  reader,  un- 
acquainted with  the  names  and  characters  of  the 
writers  I  have  quoted,  or  with  the  tendencies  of  the 
schools  or  classes  to  which  they  belong  ;  and  I  have 
been  betrayed  into  much  more  of  general  commen- 
tary than  I  contemplated  when  I  began. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  supply  the  biographical 
and  critical  details  from  sources  deserving  of  credit. 

S.  A. 

London,  April  21, 1841. 


FRAGMENTS 


FROM 

GERMAN  PROSE  WRITERS. 


GERMANY. 

Surrounded  by  the  nations  which  have  the  chief 
and  foremost  influence  on  the  condition  and  desti- 
nies of  mankind,  lies  our  Fatherland;  strong  against 
all,  formidable  to  most,  in  six  hundred  thousand 
warriors,  who  have  seldom  been  equalled,  and  nev- 
er excelled.  For  whomsoever,  or  for  whatsoever 
cause,  they  lake  up  arms,  whoever  be  their  leader, 
with  them  rests  the  balance  of  political  power,  the 
liberties  of  Europe,  the  welfare  of  the  human  race. 

By  Germans  was  the  last  universal  monarchy 
overthrown  ;  from  among  them  proceeded  the  rulers 
of  the  states  which  arose  out  of  its  ruins,  in  one  of 
whom,  chosen  by  themselves,  Europe  recognised 
the  title  and  rank  of  Caesar  ;  while  the  abuse  of 
his  power  was  mainly  checked  by  the  spirit  of  Ger- 
man freedom. 


2 


A  country,  more  than  twelve  thousand  square 
miles  in  extent  ;  fruitful,  yet  rather  in  what  minis- 
ters to  the  necessities,  than  to  the  luxury  and  vo- 
luptuous ease,  of  man  ;  fostering  the  growth  of  an 
active  and  industrious  spirit  by  her  numerous  towns, 
and  of  high  culture  and  civilization  by  her  many 
capitals  ;  sufficiently  furnished  with  coasts  and  riv- 
ers for  commerce,  yet  not  to  such  a  degree  as  that 
the  mercantile  spirit  can  ever  become  national  and 
predominant  ;  lying  under  a  climate  neither  ener- 
vating from  heat,  nor  painful  from  cold,  but  of  a 
healthful  mean,  and  thence  producing  an  organiza- 
tion of  the  human  species  equally  removed  from  the 
extremes  of  rigid  apathy  and  effeminate  sensibility  : 
a  country  peopled  by  men  vigorous  both  in  labor 
and  in  enjoyment  ;  apt  and  intelligent  in  invention  ; 
inclining  always  to  the  useful,  and  patient  in  im- 
proving and  perfecting  ;  full  of  feeling  for  the  beau- 
tiful, and  in  the  fine  arts  second  to  none,  yet  still 
more  successful  in  the  investigation  of  the  true  and 
in  the  accomplishment  of  the  great  ;  remarkable 
for  good  sense  and  for  unwearied  perseverance  ; 
obedient  even  to  the  most  rigid  military  subordina- 
tion, yet  ardent  at  the  name  of  freedom  and  worthy 
to  enjoy  it  ;  a  people  capable  of  any  thing,  if  they 
have  but  sufficient  pride  to  throw  aside  all  imita- 
tion, and  be  content  to  be  German,  —  such  is  our 
people,  — such  is  Germany. 

Johannes  v.  Mailer. 


3 


As  with  artisans,  so  with  the  higher  order  of  art- 
ists, we  see  the  most  striking  proofs,  that  man  can 
least  appropriate  to  himself  that  which  most  com- 
pletely belongs  to  him.  His  works  leave  him,  as  a 
bird  the  nest  in  which  it  was  hatched. 

The  lot  of  the  architect  is  herein  strange  above 
all  others.  How  often  does  he  turn  his  whole  mind 
and  soul  to  the  construction  and  perfecting  of  rooms 
from  which  he  must  be  for  ever  shut  out !  The 
royal  halls  are  indebted  to  him  for  a  splendor,  the 
full  effect  of  which  he  is  never  to  enjoy. 

In  the  temple,  he  fixes  an  impassable  barrier  be- 
tween himself  and  the  Holy  of  holies.  The  steps 
which  he  has  laid  for  the  celebration  of  the  heart- 
elevating  mysteries,  he  must  never  venture  to  as- 
cend ;  as  the  goldsmith  looks  with  distant  reverence 
on  the  sacred  chalice,  to  the  gold  and  gems  of  which 
he  has  given  shape  and  brilliancy.  With  the  keys 
of  the  palace,  the  architect  delivers  up  to  the  rich 
man  all  its  conveniences  and  enjoyments,  of  which 
he  is  never  to  share  in  one. 

Must  not  this  gradually  estrange  the  art  from  the 
artist, — that  his  work,  like  a  full-grown  child,  no 
longer  reflects  its  influence  on  its  father  ?  And  how 
much  would  the  art  advance  if  it  were  occupied  al- 
most exclusively  with  the  external,  which  belongs  to 
all,  and,  in  common  with  all,  to  the  artist  himself. 

Goethe.    ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 


4 


The  last,  best  fruit  which  comes  to  late  perfec- 
tion, even  in  the  kindliest  soul,  is  tenderness  to- 
ward the  hard,  forbearance  toward  the  unforbearing, 
warmth  of  heart  toward  the  cold,  philanthropy  to- 
ward the  misanthropic. 

Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter.  {Siebenkils.) 


It  is  a  coarse  but  very  common  misapprehen- 
sion, that  in  order  to  represent  the  Ideal,  an  aggre- 
gate of  virtues  as  numerous  as  possible  must  be 
packed  together  under  one  name  ;  — a  whole  com- 
pendium of  morality  be  exhibited  in  one  man. 
Nothing  is  effected  by  this  but  the  utter  extinction 
of  individuality  and  truth.  The  Ideal  consists  not 
in  quantity,  but  in  quality.  Grandison  is  exem- 
plary, but  not  ideal. 

A.  W  v.  Schlegel. 


The  proper  and  characteristic  duty  of  an  instruct- 
or of  the  people  is  the  affording  a  good  example. 
The  faith  of  his  flock  rests  mainly  upon  his  own, 
and  is,  strictly  speaking,  little  more  than  a  faith  in 
his  faith.  His  precepts  ought  to  be  delivered,  not 
as  something  learnt,  as  something  speculatively 
discovered,  but  as  something  drawn  out  of  his  own 
inward  experience,  pince  on  this  subject  every  thing 
must  be  the  result  of  such  experience.    If  his  life 


5 


contradicts  his  precepts,  no  one  believes  in  his  ex- 
perience. And  even  if  he  could  support  them  by 
such  theoretical  proofs  as  must  compel  conviction, 
nothing  of  what  he  says  is  believed  of  himself  in- 
dividually. 

Fichte. 


Wherever,  O  man,  God's  sun  first  beamed  upon 
thee,  — where  the  stars  of  heaven  first  shone  above 
thee,  —  where  his  lightnings  first  declared  his  om- 
nipotence, and  his  storm-wind  shook  thy  soul  with 
pious  awe,  —  there  are  thy  affections,  there  is  thy 
country. 

Where  the  first  human  eye  bent  lovingly  over 
thy  cradle,  —  where  thy  mother  first  bore  thee  joy- 
fully on  her  bosom,  —  where  thy  father  engraved 
the  words  of  wisdom  in  thy  heart,  — there  are  thy 
affections,  there  is  thy  country. 

And  though  it  be  among  bare  rocks  and  desert 
islands,  and  though  poverty  and  care  dwell  there 
with  thee,  thou  must  love  that  land  for  ever  ;  for 
thou  art  man,  and  thou  canst  not  forget  it,  but  it 
must  abide  in  thine  inmost  heart. 

And  freedom  is  no  empty  dream,  no  barren  im- 
agination ;  but  in  her  dwell  thy  courage,  and  thv 
pride,  and  the  certainty  that  thou  art  of  high  and 
heavenly  race. 

There  is  freedom  where  thou  canst  live  according 
2 


G 


to  the  customs  and  fashions  and  laws  of  thy  fa- 
thers ;  where  that  which  rejoiced  their  hearts  re- 
joices thine  ;  where  no  foreign  oppressor  can  com- 
mand thee,  no  foreign  ruler  drive  thee  at  his  will, 
as  cattle  at  the  will  of  their  driver. 

This  thy  country,  —  thy  free  country,  —  is  a 
treasure  which  contains  within  itself  indestructible 
love  and  faith  ;  the  noblest  good  (excepting  reli- 
gion, in  which  dwells  a  still  higher  freedom)  that  a 
virtuous  man  can  possess,  or  can  covet. 

Arndt. 


....  This  fickle,  uncertain,  capricious  love  of  the 
many,  which  a  ruler  often  loses  when  he  seeks,  and 
wins  when  he  shuns  it,  is  a  thing  certainly  useless 
and  valueless,  if  not  pernicious,  since  it  always  in- 
volves the  inclination  to  fall  into  the  contrary  ex- 
treme. What  is  this  empty  and  sentimental  exhi- 
bition of  popular  affection  ?  It  is  an  illusion,  — the 
blunder  of  demagogy,  which  calculates  only  for  the 
moment,  and  fancies  it  can  build  permanent  institu- 
tions on  what  is  utterly  transient.  It  is  not  the  love, 
it  is  the  confidence  of  the  people  which  a  prince 
stands  in  need  of.  The  assurance  that  he  observes 
their  laws  and  usages,  that  he  respects  the  rights  of 
property  and  the  freedom  of  opinion,  that  he  never 
attempts  to  introduce  by  force  innovations  or  devi- 
ations from  the  established  and  the  customary,  but 


7 

only  with  the  consent  of  those  interested  ;  this  as- 
surance is  the  important  thing  in  our  monarchy  and 
perhaps  in  every  other. 

Rumohr.    (Deutsche  Denkwiirdigkeiten.) 


 The  party  were  about  to  rise,  when  Manfred 

exclaimed,  "Only  this  one  bottle,  my  friends,  of 
delicious  Constantia  ;  let  each  fill  his  glass,  and 
give  a  health,  right  from  his  heart !  "  Ernest  rais- 
ed the  liquid  gold,  and  said,  not  without  some  so- 
lemnity, "Health  and  long  life  to  the  father  and 
liberator  of  Art  among  us,  to  the  noble  German, 
to  our  Goethe,  of  whom  we  may  well  be  proud, 
and  whom  other  nations  might  envy  us  !  "  All 
touched  glasses  ;  and  when  Theodore  was  about 
to  recall  some  recent  discussion,  Manfred  exclaim- 
ed, "  No,  my  friends,  no  criticism  now.  Let  us 
unite  all  the  joys  of  our  youth,  all  that  we  have  to 
thank  him  for,  in  one  remembrance  at  this  mo- 
ment !  " 

"You  are  right,"  said  Wilibald  ;  "the  mo- 
ment of  awakened  love  must  be  sacred  to  love 
alone  ;  and  therefore  let  us  unite  with  the  recol- 
lection of  him  that  of  Schiller,  whose  earnest 
and  grandly-aspiring  soul  should  have  longer  tar- 
ried among  us  ! " 

"  I  drink  this  glass,"  said  Anton,  with  emotion, 
"to  the  noblest  and  kindest  of  spirits, — to  the 


8 

most  amiable  of  old  men,  whom  all  good  and  pros- 
perity attend,  —  to  the  sage  who  was  never  a  sec- 
tary,—  to  the  child-like  Jacobi  ;  may  a  gentle 
destiny  long  preserve  him  to  ijs  !  " 

"We  close  our  repast  solemnly,"  said  Emilia  ; 
"  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  touched  by  the  thought 
of  so  many  beloved  absent  ones." 

"Let  us  give  ourselves  up  to  this  delightful  feel- 
ing !  "  exclaimed  Manfred  with  animation  ;  "  and 
therefore  fill  your  glasses,  and  let  us  celebrate  the 
memory  of  our  fancy-gifted,  witty,  and  inspired 
Jean  Paul.  Not  him  should  ye  forget,  ye  youth 
of  Germany  !  Thanks  be  to  him  for  his  flowery 
mazes  and  his  wondrous  imaginings  ;  may  he  in 
this  moment  think  kindly  of  us,  as  we  recall  with 
emotion  the  time  when  he  joined  in  our  circle  with 
ready  and  delightful  cordiality  !  " 

"Nor  be  the  twin  stars  of  the  German  firma- 
ment forgotten,"  exclaimed  Theodore,  with  un- 
wonted earnestness,  "our  Frederic  and  William 
Schlegel,  who  have  excited  and  promoted  so  much 
that  is  beautiful  ;  may  the  penetration  and  earnest- 
ness of  the  one,  the  refined  taste  and  devotion  to 
art  of  the  other,  be  remembered  by  grateful  Ger- 
many to  all  ages  !  " 

"Be  it  then  permitted,"  said  Lothair,  "to  in- 
voke a  genius  who  has  long  since  left  our  sphere, 
but  who  may  perhaps  hover  above  us,  if  all  hearts 
call  on  him  with  deep  longing  and  veneration  ;  — 


9 


the  great  Englishman,  the  true  and  complete  Man, 
the  lofty  spirit,  fresh  in  ever-during  childhood,  — 
the  one  Shakspeare  !  Be  he,  by  us  and  our  pos- 
terity through  all  ages,  praised,  loved,  and  hon- 
ored !  " 

All  were  strongly  excited  ;  and  Frederic  stood 
up  and  said,  "Yes,  my  dearest  friends,  as  it  is 
through  friendship  and  love  that  we  are  gathered 
together,  and  by  them  are  made  one,  recollection 
brings  around  us  all  noble  and  true-hearted  friends 
from  afar,  and  their  hearts  are,  perhaps,  even  now 
turned  hither.  But  faith  piously  invokes  the  de- 
parted also  to  our  social  pleasures,  to  our  joys  and 
our  festivities  with  longing  affection  and  with  tears 
of  gladness.  And  this  is  the  worthiest  crown  and 
consummation  of  our  joy  ;  —  death  is  no  separa- 
tion ;  his  countenance  is  not  terrible  :  hallow  then 
these  last  drops  to  the  beloved  Novalis,  the  apos- 
tle of  religion,  love,  and  innocence,  the  prophetic 
dawn  of  a  better  future  !  " 

<c  Women,"  said  Rosalie  tenderly,  "  are  espe- 
cially bound  to  be  grateful  to  him." 

Tieck.  (Phantasus.) 


The  French  stand  in  a  strange  position  with  re- 
gard to  German  literature.  They  are  precisely  in 
the  case  of  the  cunning  fox,  who  can  get  nothing 
out  of  the  long  neck  of  the  jar.    With  all  the 


10 


good-will  in  the  world,  they  do  not  know  what  to 
make  out  of  our  things  ;  they  treat  all  our  produc- 
tions as  raw  material,  which  must  be  wrought  into 
shape  by  them.  How  wretchedly  have  they  dis- 
placed and  confused  my  notes  to  Rameau  ;  there 
is  not  a  thing  left  in  its  proper  place  ! 

The  English  have  put  forth  their  "  Living  Po- 
ets "  in  two  thick  octavo  volumes,  with  short  bio- 
graphical notices  ;  I  have  been  very  industriously 
studying  this  work  for  some  time.  It  gives  occa- 
sion to  highly-interesting  comparisons.  The  most 
remarkable  excellences  of  all  these  poets  are  to 
be  traced  to  descent  and  situation  ;  the  meanest 
among  them  has  Shakspeare  for  his  ancestor,  and 
the  Ocean  at  his  feet. 

Goethe.    {Brieficechsel  mil  Zelter.) 


The  beau-monde  of  Paris  was  delighted  with 
Gessner's  Idylls  ;  just  as  a  palate  sated  and  dead- 
ened with  high  feeding  and  poignant  sauces,  is  re- 
freshed by  a  milk  diet. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


POPULAR  POETRY. 


The  position  which  Burger  assumed  in  the  pre- 
face to  the  first  edition  of  his  poems,  namely, 


11 


"that  popular  poetry  is  the  perfect,  and,  indeed, 
the  only  true  poetry,"  he  has  repeated  in  the  sec 
ond  edition,  thus  modified,  —  "that  the  popularity 
of  a  poetical  work  is  the  proof  of  its  perfection," 
and  has  endeavoured  to  establish  it  by  argument. 
If  we  look  at  all  he  has  said  on  this  subject,  in  or- 
der to  come  at  a  clear  notion  of  what  he  means  by 
the  word  people,  we  find  that  we  shall  obtain  it  by 
running  a  sort  of  mean  line  through  all  classes, 
comprehending  within  that  word  all  varieties  of 
natural  situation  and  capacity  ;  for  with  reference 
to  the  educated  and  accomplished,  there  exists  no 
such  average  :  the  line  between  those  who  partici- 
pate in  scientific  and  conventional  education  and 
those  who  are  excluded  from  it,  must  ever  remain 
sufficiently  broad  and  distinct.  It  is  not,  however, 
easy  to  perceive  why  Poetry,  to  whom  it  is  given  to 
express  to  men  all  that  is  highest  and  noblest, 
should  be  condemned  to  adapt  herself  to  mediocri- 
ty, instead  of  addressing  herself  to  the  most  ele- 
vated and  most  richly  endowed  spirits,  and  leaving 
the  others  to  come  up  with  her  as  they  can.  Bur- 
ger did  not  understand  rightly  what  he  required  of 
poetry  ;  he  confounded  it  with  the  very  attainable 
end  which  he  proposed  to  himself  in  most  of  his 
songs  ;  that  is,  to  write  for  readers  of  various  ranks, 
and  especially  those  of  the  lower  and  uninstructed. 

Nor  was  any  such  wonderful  condescension  ne- 
cessary for  this  purpose,  as  many  have  pretended  ; 


12 

for  Nature  distributes  fancy  and  susceptibility  with- 
out regard  to  higher  or  lower  birth  :  conventional 
culture  is  required  only  for  those  kinds  of  literature 
which  represent  pictures  of  polished  social  life,  and 
scientific  attainments  may  be  rendered  unnecessary 
by  the  choice  of  the  subject.  In  this  sense,  it  is 
very  possible  to  be  a  dignified  and  noble  popular 
poet.  But  it  is  not  evident  why  every  poet  must 
invariably  address  himself  to  a  public  so  consti- 
tuted ;  why,  for  instance,  he  should  not  occasion- 
ally set  before  himself  readers  whom  Nature  has 
endowed  with  a  philosophical  eye,  or  education 
made  conversant  with  classical  antiquities.  What 
he  loses  in  quantity  of  effect,  would  be  amply  com- 
pensated to  him  by  its  quality.  How  narrow  would 
be  the  sphere  of  poetry,  what  magnificent  images 
would  be  rendered  unavailable,  were  Burger's  po- 
sition universally  acknowledged  !  His  assertion, 
"that  all  great  poets  have  been  popular  poets,  and 
that  what  they  did  not  write  popularly  was  almost 
forgotten  in  their  lifetime,  or  ever  received  into 
the  imagination  and  the  memory  of  their  readers," 
is  expressly  contradicted  by  history,  —  at  least  by 
that  of  modern  poetry,  which  is  most  to  our  pres- 
ent purpose.  Dante  and  Petrarch,  the  two  great 
fathers  of  modern  poetry,  are,  in  every  sense  of 
the  word,  both  as  to  knowledge  and  genius,  as  un- 
popular as  it  is  possible  to  be.  Guarini,  the  great 
link  between  the  ancient  and  modern  schools,  is 


13 


nowise  popular  ;  and  Shakspeare  and  Cervantes 
appear  so  only  because  they  satisfy  the  many  with 
strong  emotions  and  gay  images,  and  delude  them 
with  a  superficial  intelligibility,  while  the  deeper 
sense,  and  an  infinity  of  delicate  allusions,  remain 
hidden  from  vulgar  readers  or  spectators. 

The  question,  how  far  Homer's  rhapsodies  were 
originally  suited  to  the  taste  and  comprehension 
of  the  people,  or  sung  only  for  the  noble  and  the 
great,  would  lead  us  too  far  ;  but  it  is  indisputable 
that  the  Troubadours  and  Minnesingers  are  by  no 
means  entitled  to  the  name  of  popular  poets.  They 
cultivated  rather  a  courtly  and  knightly  style  of 
poetry,  founded  on  the  manners,  views,  and  senti- 
ments of  the  highest  and  most  cultivated  ranks. 
We  have,  it  is  true,  some  specimens  of  the  same 
age,  evidently  composed  for  the  pleasure  and  ap- 
probation of  the  common  people,  and  these  form 
the  most  striking  contrast  with  the  former  ;  indeed, 
we  find  in  more  than  one  noble  Minnesinger  ex- 
pressions of  the  utmost  contempt  for  the  lays  of 
peasants  and  burghers. 

If  Burger,  by  this  sweeping  demand  for  popular- 
ity of  style,  which  he  subsequently  defines  to  be 
clearness  and  perfect  intelligibility,  only  meant  that 
every  poem  ought  to  possess  these  qualities  in  the 
highest  degree  compatible  with  the  nature  of  its 
subject-matter,  this  will  readily  be  admitted  ;  with 
the  sole  exception  of  those  cases  in  which  a  veil  of 


14 


intricacy  and  obscurity  contributes  to  make  the 
desired  impression,  and  is  thus  necessary  to  com- 
plete the  effect.  In  the  sense  above  mentioned,  his 
observation  does  not  seem  superfluous  or  unneces- 
sary, since  many  of  our  poets  have,  by  means  of 
dramatic  and  rhetorical  artifices,  clothed  the  most 
commonplace  thoughts  in  a  dense  mist  ;  a  perver- 
sity from  which  Burger  is  altogether  free.  But  if 
it  is  contended  that  perfect  clearness  is  the  essen- 
tial requisite  for  popular  poetry,  this  may  lead  the 
poet  into  the  most  fatal  errors.  Our  existence  rests 
on  the  Incomprehensible,  and  the  aim  of  poetry, 
springing  as  it  does  out  of  this  "  fathomless  pro- 
found," cannot  be  to  solve  all  mysteries.  The  peo- 
ple, for  whom  he  has  taken  the  trouble  to  versify, 
on  this  point,  as  on  many  others,  have  held  fast  by 
the  true  and  natural  feeling  ;  the  desire  to  under- 
stand every  thing,  that  is,  to  embrace  every  thing 
by  the  reason,  is  certainly  a  most  unpopular  one. 
The  Bible,  such  as  it  at  present  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  people,  can  be  but  very  imperfectly  understood; 
nay,  must  even  be  very  frequently  misunderstood, 
and  yet  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  a  popular  book. 
Adapted  to  universal  comprehension  by  our  mod- 
ern Exegetes,  it  will  infallibly  lose  the  greater  part 
of  its  popularity.  The  old  hymns  and  psalms,  es- 
pecially the  Catholic  ones,  full  of  the  most  daring- 
allegory  and  mysticism,  are  highly  popular  ;  the 
modern  ones  which  have  taken  their  place,  strip- 


15 


ped  of  all  imagery  and  all  flights,  perfectly  reason- 
able, and  as  clear  as  water,  are  not  at  all  so.  And 
why  is  this  ?  Because  in  their  mawkish  monotony 
nothing  arouses  the  attention,  nothing  suddenly 
strikes  the  feelings  and  hurries  the  reader  at  once 
to  a  point  which  he  can  never  reach  by  the  aid  of 
formal  instruction.  In  a  word,  he  who  wishes  to 
write  for  the  people  any  thing  which  rises  above 
their  daily  wants,  must  be  not  wholly  unskilled  in 
White  Magic,  —  in  the  art  of  painting  by  words 
and  signs. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


It  is  only  necessary  to  grow  old,  to  become  more 
indulgent.  I  see  no  fault  committed  that  I  have 
not  committed  myself. 

Goethe. 


Beneficence  is  a  duty.  He  who  frequently 
practises  it,  and  sees  his  benevolent  intentions 
realized,  at  length  comes  really  to  love  him  to 
whom  he  has  done  good.  When,  therefore,  it  is 
said,  "  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself," 
it  is  not  meant,  thou  shalt  love  him  first,  and  do 
good  to  him  in  consequence  of  that  love,  but  Thou 
shalt  do  good  to  thy  neighbour,  and  this  thy  benefi- 
cence will  engender  in  thee  that  love  to  mankind 


16 

which  is  the  fulness  and  consummation  of  the  incli- 
nation to  do  good. 

Kant.  (Tugendlelire.) 


 On  the  earth  lay  yellow  faded  rose-leaves, 

and  skeletons  of  nosegays,  in  which  there  was 
more  of  sticks  and  threads  than  of  flowers:  it  seem- 
ed to  me  as  if  I  saw  the  summer  in  which  they  had 
grown  and  blossomed,  lying  withered  at  my  feet; 
and  the  evening  joys  which  Sunday  shed  among 
the  villages;  and  many  a  youthful,  high-breathing 
bosom,  from  which  (perhaps  more  brightly  bloom- 
ing than  they)  they  had  xiropped  faded:  and  gladly 
would  I  have  put  the  summer,  and  its  withered 
joys,  by  their  dead  stalks  into  water  and  revived 
them;  and  I  looked  at  the  tall  sexton,  to  whom  the 
thing  was  nothing  but  a  vexation,  as  he  took  the 
broom  and  swept  them  away  among  the  dry  dust. 

As  we  came  down,  and  I  trod,  like  death,  over 
the  breast  of  many  a  strong  mail-clad  knight,  and 
his  gently-supplicating  lady-wife,  I  thought  deeply, 
but  cheerfully,  of  the  old  by-gone  Catholic  times, 
whose  rostrum  and  whose  theatre  this  place  had 
been.  A  Catholic  church,  as  it  now  is,  presses 
the  near  image  of  the  gloomy,  ponderous  middle 
ages  too  heavily  on  my  heart;  but  if  its  service  has 
ceased,  then  the  dim,  shadowy  picture  pleases  me; 
and  I  figure  to  myself  indulgently,  how  many  a 


17 


fevered  bosom  here  caught  fresh  air  ;  how  many  a 
breathing  sigh,  how  many  a  sanctifying  prayer, 
were  uttered  here;  and  how  the  poor  people,  sunk 
in  the  deepest  shaft  of  monkery,  beheld,  not  indeed 
the  quickening  sun  of  our  living  day,  but,  like 
other  miners,  some  star  of  the  second  day:  —  even 
that  is  something.  And  I  would  rather  dwell  in 
the  dim  fog  of  superstition,  than  in  air  rarefied  to 
nothing  by  the  air-pump  of  unbelief,  in  which  the 
panting  breast  expires,  vainly  and  convulsively 
gasping  for  breath. 

In  general  our  century  has  destroyed  rather  er- 
rors, than  the  moral  sources  of  errors.  Our  mental 
cataract  is  not  operated  on  with  the  couching  in- 
strument, which  removes  it  entirely,  but  only  with 
the  lancet,  which  pushes  it  back  into  the  innermost 
part  of  the  eye. 

Jean  Paul.  (Titan.) 


There  is  no  more  potent  antidote  to  low  sensu- 
ality than  the  adoration  of  beauty.  All  the  higher 
arts  of  design  are  essentially  chaste,  without  re- 
spect of  the  object.  They  purify  the  thoughts,  as 
tragedy,  according  to  Aristotle,  purifies  the  pas- 
sions. Their  accidental  effects  are  not  worth  con- 
sideration. There  are  souls  to  whom  even  a  vestal 
is  not  holy. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel 


IS 


What  a  conception  of  art  must  those  theorists 
have  who  exclude  portraits  from  the  proper  prov- 
ince of  the  fine  arts  !  It  is  exactly  as  if  we  denied 
that  to  be  poetry,  in  which  the  poet  celebrates  the 
woman  he  really  loves.  Portraiture  is  the  basis 
and  the  touchstone  of  historic  painting. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


After  all,  the  noblest  and  most  beautiful  monu- 
ment to  the  memory  of  a  man,  must  ever  be  a  like- 
ness of  him.  This  gives  a  more  perfect  idea  of 
what  he  was  than  any  thing  else  can;  it  is  the  best 
text  to  few  notes,  or  to  many;  only  it  ought  to  be 
taken  in  his  best  years,  —  and  this  is  commonly 
neglected.  Nobody  thinks  of  seizing  the  living 
forms;  and  even  when  this  is  done,  it  is  done  im- 
perfectly and  inadequately.  As  soon  as  a  man 
dies,  there  is  the  greatest  eagerness  to  take  a  cast 
of  him;  this  mask  is  set  upon  a  block,  and  the 
work  is  called  a  bust.  How  rarely  is  it  in  the  pow- 
er of  the  artist  to  reanimate  it  ! 

The  likeness  of  a  man  is  wholly  independent  ; 
wherever  it  may  be  placed,  it  speaks  for  itself. 
We  do  not  require  that  it  should  indicate  the  place 
where  his  body  rests.  But  si  all  I  confess  to  you  a 
strange  feeling  of  mine  ?  Even  to  portraits  I  have 
a  sort  of  aversion  ;  they  always  appear  to  me  to 
breathe  silent  reproaches  ;  they  betoken  something 


19 


distant,  departed,  and  remind  me  how  difficult  it  is 
to  estimate  the  present  as  it  deserves.  Let  us  but 
reflect  how  many  men  we  have  seen  and  known, 
and  acknowledge  how  little  they  have  been  to  us, 
how  little  we  to  them,  —  and  what  must  be  our 
feelings  ?  We  meet  the  man  of  talent  without 
conversing  with  him  ;  the  scholar,  without  learning 
from  him  ;  the  traveller,  without  seeking  to  gain 
information  from  him  ;  the  kind-hearted  man,  with- 
out making  one  effort  to  please  him.  And,  alas  ! 
this  is  not  the  case  in  transient  intercourse  alone. 
Thus  it  is  tl  at  societies  and  families  treat  their 
most  valuable  members,  —  towns  their  worthiest 
citizens,  —  subjects  their  best  princes,  —  nations 
their  most  eminent  men.  I  have  heard  it  asked 
why  we  speak  of  the  dead  with  unqualified  praise  ; 
of  the  living,  always  with  certain  reservations.  It 
may  be  answered,  because  we  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  the  former,  while  the  latter  may  stand  in  our 
way  :  so  impure  is  our  boasted  solicitude  for  the 
memory  of  the  dead.  If  it  were  the  sacred  and 
earnest  feeling  we  pretend,  it  would  strengthen  and 
animate  our  intercourse  with  the  living. 

Goethe. 


The  critic  of  art  ought  to  keep  in  view  not  only 
the  capabilities,  but  the  proper  objects,  of  art. 
Not  all  that  art  can  accomplish,  ought  she  to  at- 


20 


tempt.  It  is  from  this  cause  alone,  and  because 
we  have  lost  sight  of  these  principles,  that  art, 
among  us,  is  become  more  extensive  and  difficult, 
less  effective  and  perfect. 

Leasing. 


Every  figure  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  art,  every 
character  invented  by  fiction,  has  more  or  less  of 
life,  and  the  claims  and  hopes  of  life.  Galleries  of 
pictures  and  statues  are  the  dormitories  of  a  future 
world.  The  historian,  the  philosopher,  the  artist 
of  that  world  is  here  at  home  ;  here  he  forms  him- 
self, —  for  this  he  lives.  Let  him  who  is  unhappy 
in  the  actual  world,  —  who  finds  not  what  he 
seeks,  —  let  him  go  into  the  world  of  books  and  of 
art,  —  into  Nature,  that  eternal  antique,  and  yet 
eternal  novelty,  —  let  him  live  in  that  Ecclesia 
pressa  of  the  better  world.  Here  he  will  be  sure 
to  find  a  beloved  and  a  friend,  a  Fatherland  and  a 
God.  They  slumber,  —  but  in  prophetic,  signifi- 
cant slumbers.  At  length  comes  the  time  when 
every  initiated  of  that  better  state  sees,  like  Pyg- 
malion, the  world  he  has  created  and  combined 
break  upon  him  with  the  glories  of  a  loftier  and 
lovelier  dawning,  and  his  long  fidelity  and  love 
requited. 

Novalis. 


The  finest  hair  casts  a  shadow. 


Goethe. 


21 


The  sun  sinks,  —  and  the  earth  closes  her  great 
eye,  like  that  of  a  dying  god.  Then  smoke  the 
hills  like  altars  ;  —  out  of  every  wood  ascends  a 
chorus  ;  —  the  veils  of  day,  the  shadows,  float 
around  the  enkindled,  transparent  tree-tops,  and 
fall  upon  the  gay,  gem-like  flowers.  And  the  bur- 
nished gold  of  the  west  throws  back  a  dead  gold 
on  the  east,  and  tinges  with  rosy  light  the  hovering 
breast  of  the  tremulous  lark, — the  evening  bell 
of  nature. 

Jean  Paul.    ( Siebenkcts.) 


We  are  near  waking,  when  we  dream  that  we 
dream. 


Novalis. 


If  the  world  is  to  be  held  together  by  lies,  the 
old,  whkih  are  already  current,  are  just  as  good  as 
the  new. 

Lessing. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  AND  THE  TRADER  IN  SCIENCE. 

Extract  from  a  lecture,  introductory  to  a  course  on  Universal 
History,  delivered  at  Jena,  1789. 

The  plan  of  study  which  the  trader  in  science 
and  literature  proposes  to  himself  is  one  ;  that  of 


22 


the  philosopher  is  another,  and  a  far  different. 
The  former,  the  only  aim  of  whose  industry  is  to 
fulfil  those  conditions  under  which  he  may  become 
qualified  for  his  post  or  profession  and  participant 
in  its  advantages,  who  has  set  the  powers  of  his 
mind  in  activity  only  for  the  bettering  of  his  exter- 
nal circumstances  and  for  the  satisfying  of  a  small 
ambition, — such  a  man  will,  on  the  entrance  to 
his  academical  career,  have  no  more  weighty  con- 
cern than  most  carefully  to  sever  those  studies 
which  he  regards  as  means  of  subsistence,  from  all 
those  which  delight  the  mind  as  mind  alone.  All 
the  time  devoted  to  these,  he  would  think  subtract- 
ed from  his  future  profession,  and  would  never  for- 
give himself  for  the  theft.  He  would  turn  his 
whole  industry  in  the  direction  of  those  acquisi- 
tious  which  the  future  masters  of  his  fortunes 
wonld  be  likely  to  require  at  his  hands,  and  would 
think  he  had  accomplished  every  thing  if  he  could 
meet  these  demands  without  fear.  Has  he  run 
through  his  academical  course,  and  reached  the 
goal  of  his  wishes  ?  He  abandons  his  guide  ;  for 
why  should  he  trouble  himself  further  ?  His  main 
object  is  now  to  bring  to  view  the  treasures  he  has 
accumulated  in  his  memory,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  use  his  utmost  endeavours  that  they  may  not  de- 
cline in  value.  Every  extension  of  the  boundaries 
of  the  science  by  which  he  earns  his  bread,  is  re- 
garded by  him  with  anxiety,  since  it  occasions  him 


23 


fresh  labor,  or  renders  his  former  labors  useless  : 
every  important  innovation  or  discovery  alarms 
him,  for  it  breaks  down  those  old  school-formulse 
which  he  had  taken  so  much  pains  to  acquire  ;  it 
endangers  the  entire  produce  of  the  toil  and  trouble 
of  his  whole  previous  life. 

Who  have  raised  so  loud  an  outcry  and  clamor 
against  reformers  as  those  who  turn  science  and 
learning  into  daily  bread  ?    Who  so  carefully  and 
so  effectually  obstruct  the  progress  of  useful  revo- 
lutions in  the  empire  of  science  as  these  men  ? 
Every  spark  of  light  which  is  enkindled  by  some 
happy  genius,  be  it  in  what  science  it  may,  renders 
their  barrenness  and  poverty  visible.    They  fight 
with  bitterness,  with  malice,  with  desperation  ;  for 
the  forms  and  systems  which  they  defend  are  iden- 
tified with  their  very  existence.    Hence  there  is 
no  more  implacable  enemy,  no  more  envious  col- 
league, no  more  zealous  inquisitor,  than  the  man 
who  has  set  his  talents  and  knowledge  to  sale. 
The  less  his  acquirements  reward  him  in  and  for 
themselves,  the  larger  remuneration  does  he  crave 
from  others  ;  for  the  merits  of  the  artisan,  and  for 
those  of  the  man  of  science,  he  has  only  one 
standard, — labor:    hence  there  are  no  greater 
complainers  than  such  men.    Not  in  the  deep  and 
hidden  treasures  of  his  own  thoughts  does  he  seek 
his  reward  ;  he  seeks  it  in  external  applause,  in 
titles  and  posts  of  honor  or  authority.    Is  he  dis- 


24 


appointed  of  these  ?  Who  is  more  unhappy  than 
the  man  who  has  cultivated  knowledge  with  no 
purer  and  higher  aims  ?  He  has  lived,  he  has 
watched,  he  has  toiled,  in  vain  ;  in  vain  has  he 
searched  for  truth,  if  he  cannot  barter  her  in  ex- 
change for  gold,  for  newspaper  applause,  for  court 
favor. 

Pitiable  man  !  who  with  the  noblest  of  all  in- 
struments,—  Science  and  Art, — can  design,  can 
execute,  nothing  higher  than  the  artisan,  with  the 
meanest  !  who,  in  the  empire  of  perfect  freedom, 
bears  about  the  soul  of  a  slave  !  But  still  more 
pitiable  is  the  young  man  of  genius,  whose  natural 
disposition  is  turned  aside  by  pernicious  doctrine 
and  example  into  these  miserable  by-ways  ;  who 
has  suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  concen- 
trate his  whole  mental  force  upon  this  merely  pro- 
fessional perfection.  He  will  soon  regard  his  pro- 
fessional attainments  with  loathing,  as  a  mere  piece 
of  botch-work  ;  wishes  will  arise  within  him  which 
can  never  be  satisfied  ;  his  genius  will  rebel  against 
his  destination.  Every  thing  he  does,  now  appears 
to  him  fragmental ;  he  sees  no  aim  to  his  labors, 
and  yet  he  cannot  endure  their  aimlessness.  The 
irksomeness,  the  insignificance  of  his  employment, 
press  him  to  the  earth,  because  he  cannot  oppose 
to  them  that  high  and  cheerful  courage  which  ac- 
companies only  a  clear  insight  into  the  objects  of 
research,  —  a  confident  anticipation  of  its  success. 


25 


He  feels  himself  cut  off,  torn  up  by  the  roots,  from 
the  universal  harmony  and  connexion  of  things, 
because  he  has  neglected  to  direct  his  mental 
activity  to  the  Great  Whole.  The  lawyer  abhors 
law,  as  soon  as  a  glimmer  of  better  culture  throws 
light  upon  her  nakedness  and  deformities  ;  instead 
of  striving,  as  he  ought,  to  become  the  creator  of  a 
new  and  more  perfect  form,  and  to  supply  her  now 
discovered  wants  out  of  his  own  internal  affluence. 
The  physician  becomes  disgusted  with  his  profes- 
sion, as  soon  as  important  failures  show  him  the 
uncertainty  of  his  system  ;  the  theologian  loses  his 
reverence  for  his  sacred  calling,  as  soon  as  his 
faith  in  the  infallibility  of  his  own  system  of  doctrine 
is  shaken. 

How  far  different  is  the  philosophical  spirit  !  Just 
as  sedulously  as  the  trader  in  knowledge  severs  his 
own  peculiar  science  from  all  others,  does  the  lover 
of  wisdom  strive  to  extend  its  dominion  and  restore 
its  connexion  with  them.  I  say,  to  restore ;  for  the 
boundaries  which  divide  the  sciences  are  but  the 
work  of  abstraction.  What  the  empiric  separates, 
the  philosopher  unites.  He  has  early  come  to  the 
conviction  that  in  the  territory  of  intellect,  as  in 
the  world  of  matter,  every  thing  is  enlinked  and 
commingled,  and  his  eager  longing  for  universal 
harmony  and  agreement  cannot  be  satisfied  by  frag- 
ments. All  his  efforts  are  directed  to  the  perfecting 
of  his  knowledge  ;  his  noble  impatience  cannot  be 


26 


tranquillized  till  all  his  conceptions  have  arranged 
themselves  into  one  harmonious  whole  ;  till  he 
stands  at  the  central  point  of  arts  and  sciences,  and 
thence  overlooks  the  whole  extent  of  their  dominion 
with  satisfied  glance.  New  discoveries  in  the  field 
of  his  activity,  which  depress  the  trader  in  science, 
enrapture  the  philosopher.  Perhaps  they  fill  a 
chasm  which  the  growth  of  his  ideas  had  rendered 
more  wide  and  unseemly  ;  or  they  place  the  last 
stone,  the  only  one  wanting  to  the  completion  of 
the  structure  of  his  ideas.  But  even  should  they 
shiver  it  into  ruins,  —  should  a  new  series  of  ideas, 
a  new  aspect  of  nature,  a  newly-discovered  law  in 
the  physical  world,  overthrow  the  whole  fabric  of 
his  knowledge, — he  has  always  loved  truth  better 
than  his  system,  and  gladly  will  he  exchange  her  old 
and  defective  form  for  a  new  and  fairer  one.  And 
even  if  no  external  shock  should  disturb  his  mental 
structure,  yet  is  he  compelled  by  an  ever-active  im- 
pulse toward  improvement,  to  be  the  first  to  pull  it 
down  and  separate  all  its  parts,  that  he  may  rebuild 
it  anew  in  a  mere  perfect  form  and  order.  The 
philosophical  mind  passes  on  through  new  forms  of 
thought,  constantly  heightening  in  beauty,  to  per- 
fect, consummate  excellence  ;  while  the  empiric 
hoards  the  barren  sameness  of  his  school  attain- 
ments in  a  mind  eternally  stationary. 

There  is  no  more  equitable  judge  of  the  merits  of 
others  than  the  philosopher.    Acute  and  inventive 


27 


enough  to  take  advantage  of  every  kind  of  active 
power,  he  is  also  reasonable  enough  to  honor  the 
author  of  the  minutest  discovery.  For  him,  all 
spirits  labor  ;  to  the  empiric,  their  toils  are  hostile 
and  ruinous.  The  former  knows  how  to  make  all 
that  is  done  or  thought  around  him,  his  own  ;  an 
intimate  community  of  all  intellectual  possessions 
prevails  among  real  thinkers  ;  whatever  one  con- 
quers in  the  empire  of  truth,  he  shares  with  all ; 
while  the  man  whose  only  estimate  of  wisdom  is 
profit,  hates  his  contemporaries  and  grudges  them 
the  light  and  sun  which  illumine  them  ;  he  guards 
with  jealous  care  the  tottering  barriers  which  feebly 
defend  him  from  the  incursions  of  victorious  truth  ; 
for  whatever  he  undertakes,  he  is  compelled  to 
borrow  stimulus  and  encouragement  from  without, 
while  the  philosophical  spirit  finds  in  its  objects, 
nay,  even  in  its  toils,  excitement  and  reward. 

With  how  much  more  ardor  can  the  true  lover  of 
knowledge  set  about  his  work,  how  much  more  live- 
ly is  his  zeal,  how  much  more  persevering  his  cour- 
age and  activity,  since  each  labor  starts  in  all  the 
freshness  of  youth  from  the  bosom  of  its  predeces- 
sor !  The  small  acquires  magnitude  under  his  cre- 
ative hand,  for  he  keeps  the  great  steadily  in  his 
eye,  and  all  his  conceptions  are  tinctured  by  it  ; 
while  the  empiric  sees  only  minute  details, — the 
small,  even  in  the  greatest.  Not  what  is  his  pur- 
suit, but  how  he  handles  whatever  he  pursues,  dis- 


28 


tinguishes  the  philosophical  mind.  Wherever  he 
takes  his  station,  whatever  is  the  field  of  his  activity, 
he  always  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  Whole  ;  and, 
however  widely  the  object  of  his  pursuit  separates 
him  from  his  brethren,  he  is  near  and  allied  to  them 
by  a  mind  working  in  harmony  with  theirs.  He 
meets  them  on  that  point  where  all  clear  spirits 
find  each  other. 

Schiller. 


Salt  is  a  very  good  condiment,  but  very  bad 
food.  This  last  sentiment  comes  from  my  heart. 
Never  do  I  feel  more  refreshed  by  serious  passages 
than  when  they  occur  amidst  comic  ones  :  as  the 
green  spots  amid  the  rocks  and  glaciers  of  Switzer- 
land soothe  the  eye  amid  the  glare  and  glitter  of 
snow  and  ice.  Hence  it  is  that  the  humor  of  the 
English,  which  is  engrafted  on  the  stem  of  lofty 
seriousness,  has  grown  so  luxuriantly  and  over- 
topped that  of  all  other  nations. 

A  satire  on  every  thing  is  a  satire  on  nothing  ;  it 
is  mere  absurdity.  All  contempt,  —  all  disrespect, 
—  implies  something  respected,  as  a  standard  to 
which  it  is  referred  ;  just  as  every  valley  implies  a 
hill.  The  persiflage  of  the  French  and  of  fashion- 
able worldlings,  which  turns  into  ridicule  the  ex- 
ceptions and  yet  abjures  the  rules,  is  like  Trinculo's 
government,  —  its  latter  end  forgets  its  beginning. 
Can  there  be  a  more  mortal,  poisonous  consump- 


29 

tion  and  asphyxy  of  the  mind,  than  this  decline  and 
extinction  of  all  reverence  ? 

Jean  Paul.  (Palingenesien.) 


What  are  the  aims  which  are  at  the  same  time 
duties  ?  They  are,  the  perfecting  of  ourselves, 
the  happiness  of  others. 

Kant.    ( Tug  en  dleh  re.) 


Could  not  a  language  fettered  by  convenances 
like  the  French,  be  republicanized  by  an  authorita- 
tive decree  of  the  universal  will  ?  The  dominion 
of  language  over  mind  is  manifest,  but  it  does  not 
follow  from  thence  that  it  is  sacred  and  inviolate. 
The  assertion  of  such  a  claim  is  entitled  to  no  more 
respect  than  is  now  paid  to  the  doctrine  of  the  di- 
vine origin  of  governments,  which  was  formerly 
maintained  to  be  part  of  the  law  of  nature. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


Among  literary  men,  the  gift  of  bearing  to  be 
contradicted  is,  generally  speaking,  possessed  only 
by  the  dead.  I  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  assert  that, 
for  the  sake  of  possessing  it,  we  ought  to  wish  our- 
selves dead,  for  that  is  a  price  at  which  perhaps 
even  higher  perfections  would  be  too  dearly  pur- 


30 


chased.  I  will  only  say  that  it  would  be  well  if 
living  authors  would  learn  to  be  externally  some- 
what dead.  The  time  will  come  when  they  must 
leave  behind  them  a  posterity  who  will  sever  every 
thing  accidental  from  their  reputation,  and  will  be 
withheld  by  no  reverence  from  laughing  at  their 
faults.  Why  can  they  not  learn  to  endure  by  an- 
ticipation this  posterity,  which  every  now  and  then 
reveals  itself,  heedless  whether  they  think  it  envi- 
ous or  unmannerly  ? 

Lessing. 


Hate  makes  us  vehement  partisans,  but  love 
still  more  so. 

Goethe. 


LUTHER  TO   HIS  COMPANIONS. 

Grace  and  peace  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord  be 
with  you,  dear  sirs  and  friends  !  I  have  received 
all  your  letters,  and  understand  therefrom  how  it 
fares  with  you  all.  That  you  may  be  aware  how 
it  fares  with  us,  I  hereby  give  you  to  know  that 
we,  namely  I,  Master  Veit  and  Cyriac,  do  not  go 
to  the  Diet  at  Augsburg  :  we  are,  however,  here 
attending  another  diet. 

For  know  that  just  beneath  our  window  is  a 
rookery  in  a  small  wood,  and  there  do  the  rooks 
and  jackdaws  hold  their  diet.    There  is  such  a 


31 


journeying  to  and  fro,  such  a  cry  and  clamor  day 
and  night  without  any  ceasing,  as  they  were  all 
drunken  ;  and  old  and  young  chatter  all  at  once, 
that  it  is  a  marvel  to  me  how  voice  and  breath  can 
so  long  hold  it  ;  and  I  would  fain  know  whether, 
in  your  parts,  you  have  any  such-like  nobles  and 
cavaliers.  It  seems  to  me  that  they  are  gathered 
together  here  from  all  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

Their  emperor  I  have  not  yet  seen,  but  their  no- 
bles and  their  great  merchants  are  for  ever  strutting 
before  our  eyes,  not,  in  truth,  in  very  costly  gar- 
ments, but  rather  simply  clad  in  one  color  ;  they 
are  all  dressed  in  black  ;  all  are  gray-eyed,  and  all 
sing  the  same  song,  save  with  some  petty  differen- 
ces of  old  and  young,  great  and  small.  They  reck 
not  of  vast  palace  or  stately  hall,  for  their  hall  is 
roofed  with  the  fair  wide  heaven.  The  floor  is  the 
bare  field,  strewed  with  dainty  green  twigs,  and  its 
walls  are  as  wide  as  the  world's  end.  Nor  do  they 
need  steed  or  harness  ;  they  have  feathered  wheels 
wherewith  they  escape  from  the  fire  of  their  ene- 
mies and  avoid  their  rage.  There  are  high  and 
mighty  lords  amongst  them  ;  but  what  they  resolve 
I  know  not.  Thus  much,  however,  have  I  gather- 
ed from  an  interpreter  ;  that  they  have  in  hand  a 
mighty  expedition  and  war  against  wheat,  barley, 
oats,  rye,  and  all  manner  of  corn  and  grain,  and 
herein  will  many  win  knighthood,  and  do  great 
feats  of  arms.    We  also  sit  here  assembled  in  diet, 


32 


and  hear  and  see,  with  great  pleasure  and  delight, 
how  the  princes  and  lords,  together  with  the  es- 
tates of  the  empire,  so  gayly  sing  and  make  good 
cheer.  But  especial  joy  have  we  when  we  see 
with  how  knightly  an  air  they  strut,  clean  their 
bills,  and  attack  the  defences;  and  how  they  gain 
conquest  and  glory  against  wheat  and  barley.  We 
humbly  salute  them  all,  and  wish  that  they  were 
all  spitted  on  a  hedgestake  together. 

I  hold,  however,  that  they  are  most  like  to  the 
sophists  and  papists,  with  their  preaching  and  writ- 
ing; for  so  would  I  fain  have  them  all  in  a  heap 
before  me,  that  I  might  hear  all  their  sweet  voices 
and  preachings,  and  might  see  how  right  useful  a 
folk  they  are  to  consume  all  that  the  earth  brings 
forth,  and  to  while  away  the  heavy  time  in  chat- 
tering. 

To-day  we  have  heard  the  nightingale  for  the 
first  time;  for  she  would  put  no  trust  in  April.  It 
has  been  right  glorious  weather  all  day,  nor  has  it 
rained  at  all,  except  yesterday  a  little.  With  you 
it  is  perchance  otherwise. 

Herewith  I  commend  you  to  God.  Fare  ye  well! 

From  the  Diet  of  the  Cornturks*  April  28,  1530. 


The  ideal  of  ethical  perfection  has  no  more  dan- 
gerous rival  than  the  Ideal  of  the  highest  strength, 


Malztttrken. 


33 


—  the  most  intense  vital  energy,  —  which  has  been 
called  (rightly  enough  with  reference  to  the  literal 
meaning  of  the  term,  but  very  falsely  as  regards 
that  which  we  now  attach  to  it)  the  Ideal  of  aesthet- 
ic greatness.  It  is  the  maximum  of  barbarians, 
and  has,  alas  !  in  these  days  of  wild  irregular  cul- 
ture, obtained  very  numerous  adherents,  precisely 
among  the  feeblest  minds.  Man,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  this  Ideal,  becomes  an  animal  spirit,  —  a 
combination  whose  brute  intelligence  possesses  a 
brute  attraction  for  the  weak. 

Novalis. 


Ordinary  people  regard  a  man  of  a  certain 
force  and  inflexibility  of  character  as  they  do  a 
lion.  They  look  at  him  with  a  sort  of  wonder,  — 
perhaps  they  admire  him,  —  but  they  will  on  no 
account  house  with  him.  The  lap-dog,  who  wags 
his  tail,  and  licks  the  hand,  and  cringes  at  the  nod 
of  every  stranger,  is  a  much  more  acceptable  com- 
panion to  them. 

Merkel. 


The  heart  of  man  is  older  than  his  head.  The 
first-born  is  sensitive,  but  blind,  —  his  younger 
brother  has  a  cold,  but  all-comprehensive  glance. 


34 


The  blind  must  consent  to  be  led  by  the  clear- 
sighted if  he  would  avoid  falling. 

Fred.  Will.  Ziegler. 


The  most  reckless  sinner  against  his  own  con- 
science has  always  in  the  background  the  consola- 
tion, that  he  will  go  on  in  this  course  only  this 
time,  or  only  so  long,  but  that  at  such  a  time  he 
will  amend.  We  may  be  assured  that  we  do  not 
stand  clear  with  our  own  consciences  so  long  as 
we  determine,  or  project,  or  even  hold  it  possible, 
at  some  future  time  to  alter  our  course  of  action. 
He  who  is  certain  of  his  own  conduct,  feels  per- 
fectly confident  that  he  cannot  change  it,  nor  the 
principles  upon  which  it  is  founded  ;  —  that,  on  this 
point,  his  freedom  is  gone,  —  that  he  is  fixed  for 
ever  in  these  resolves. 

Fichu. 


One  solitary  philosopher  may  be  great,  virtuous, 
and  happy  in  the  depth  of  poverty,  but  not  a  whole 
people. 

Isaak  Iselin. 


 Is  it  then  the  involuntary  sense  of  something 

untrue  which  makes  the  world  distrustful  and  in- 
credulous of  the  genuineness  of  tender  emotions 


35 


and  deep  feelings  ?  Or  is  it  from  a  general  inca- 
pacity to  understand  what  love  is,  that  it  is  gener- 
ally ridiculed,  and  never  mentioned  but  with  a  sort 
of  trivial  irony,  the  vulgarity  of  which  is  almost 
greater  than  its  offensiveness  ?  The  answer  I 
leave.  At  all  events,  there  is  nothing  which  so 
cramps  every  flight  of  the  soul,  as  the  mocking 
doubt  of  all  that  is  unusual  and  elevated.  This 
necessarily  begets  falsehood,  or  (what  is  as  bad) 
that  hard  pride  which  contemns  public  opinion. 
Offended  earnestness,  which  can  never  tolerate  or 
forgive  frivolous  and  empty  jests,  avenges  itself  on 
folly  and  inanity  by  assuming  an  attitude  of  haugh- 
ty defiance. 

The  great  world,  or,  as  it  is  called,  polite  soci- 
ety, has  put  on  a  countenance  of  such  youthful 
gayety,  that  the  smallest  cloud  of  deeper  emotion 
necessarily  disturbs  it.  There  is  nothing  by  which 
a  man  makes  himself  more  tiresome  or  more  ridic- 
ulous than  by  allowing  what  passes  within  him  to 
appear  on  the  surface  ;  by  suffering  his  real  nature 
to  gleam  through  the  forms  of  society.  Now  any 
interference,  whether  kindly  or  offensively  intend- 
ed, with  a  man's  personal  relations,  causes  a  sud- 
den agitation  which  makes  too  forcible  an  appeal 
to  truth  ;  it  cannot  remain  mute,  it  betrays  itself. 
In  order  to  avoid  the  ridicule  consequent  upon 
this,  he  must  laugh  at  his  own  want  of  self-com- 
mand.   According  as  that  is  done  with  good  sense 


36 


or  with  grace,  social  hypocrisy  acquires  a  tinge 
either  of  the  humorous  or  the  attractive.  But  if 
timidity  and  awkwardness  are  mingled  with  false 
shame,  and  he  endeavours  to  explain  away  and  to 
apologize  for  what  was  perhaps  a  solitary  indication 
of  something  really  good,  nothing  remains  but  the 
flattest  commonplaces  of  the  flattest  persiflage. 

Is  it  to  be  wondered  that  men  of  profound  minds 
withdraw  with  a  contemptuous  smile  from  fashiona- 
ble society  ? 

Must  this  be  so  ?  Must  the  higher  classes  thus 
detach  themselves  from  all  others,  like  an  isolated 
piece  of  merely  external  life,  which  knows  noth- 
ing, and  must  know  nothing,  of  the  internal  ?  To 
wrest  things  out  of  their  connexion  and  series,  is  to 
destroy  them.  When  the  fibres  which  unite  a  be- 
ing are  broken,  it  breathes  no  living  breath,  —  it 
becomes  a  caricature  or  a  lie. 

This  state  of  things  everybody  has  an  interest 
in  preventing  ;  but  especially  women,  whose  voca- 
tion it  is  to  breathe  over  society  a  warm  and  vivi- 
fying breath,  and  to  render  all  isolation  in  it  impos- 
sible. This  breath  of  apprehensiveness  and  enthu- 
siasm, which  discovers  and  fans  every  congenial 
spirit  even  before  it  is  conscious  of  its  own  exis- 
tence, ought  to  pervade  society,  and  to  form  a 
more  genial  atmosphere,  in  which  every  bud  and 
flower  of  feeling  is  not  doomed  to  instant  death. 
If  the  influence  of  the  female  sex  is  negative,  it  is 


37 


yet  of  immense  reality  and  strength,  from  the  mere 
fact  that  it  acts  by  removing  the  barriers  opposed 
to  the  positive  display  of  the  intellectual  nature  of 
man. 

Women  might  at  least  tolerate  the  aspirations  of 
a  lofty  spirit,  the  developement  of  enlarged  and 
generous  opinions,  the  kindlings  of  a  living,  vigor- 
ous will.  At  least  they  might  abstain  from  throw- 
ing ridicule  on  the  enthusiasm  which  is  possible  : 
at  least  they  might  forgive  youth  if  its  quick  fire 
flames  up  above  the  low  enclosures  of  the  conven- 
tional. They  know  not  their  own  power  ;  they 
know  not  how  and  whence  they  can  elevate  exist- 
ence :  they  commonly  know  it  not  even  in  ^detail, 
though  they  might,  it  should  seem,  observe  how 
powerfully  one  single  intelligent  glance  of  sympa- 
thy,—  the  silent  accompaniment  and  completion  of 
half-formed  thoughts, — may  act  on  the  general  di- 
rection of  the  mind  and  character  ;  how  the  con- 
viction of  being  understood  and  appreciated  gives 
wings  to  thoughts,  and  eagle  pinions  to  exertions  : 
what  it  is  to  be  able  to  look  forward  to  praise  and 
honor,  as  a  reward  for  every  victory  over  low  de- 
sires. 

There  are  eyes  which  need  only  to  look  up,  to 
touch  every  chord  of  a  breast  choked  by  the  stifling 
atmosphere  of  stiff  and  stagnant  society,  and  to 
call  forth  tones  which  might  become  the  accompa- 
nying music  of  a  life. 

4 


38 


This  gentle  transfusion  of  mind  into  mind  is  the 
secret  of  sympathy.  It  is  never  understood,  but 
ever  felt  ;  and  where  it  is  allowed  to  exert  its  pow- 
er, it  fills  and  extends  intellectual  life  far  beyond 
the  measure  of  ordinary  conception. 

How  many  have  known  and  forgotten  instances 
of  such  awakening  !  Why  do  women  present  an 
attitude  of  cold  fashionableness  to  a  world  which 
they  might  win  by  their  sweetness,  and  inspire  by 
their  virtue  ?  Their  light  footsteps  ought  to  touch 
the  earth,  only  to  mark  the  track  which  leads  to 
heaven. 

Madame  de  la  Motte  Fouque.  (Die  Fran  der  vornehmen  Welt.) 


There  are  souls  which  fall  from  heaven  like 
flowers  ;  but  ere  the  pure  and  fresh  buds  can 
open,  they  are  trodden  in  the  dust  of  earth,  and 
lie  soiled  and  crushed  under  the  foul  tread  of  some 
brutal  hoof. 

Jean  Paid. 


The  artist  belongs  to  his  work,  not  the  work  to 
the  artist. 

Novalis. 


Monastery  of  S!a  Scolastica,  Subiaco. 

Somewhat  more  than  a  day's  journey  from 
Rome,  opposite  to  the  luxuriantly  garlanded  ruins 


39 


of  the  Therms  of  Nero,  on  the  barren  summit  of  a 
rock  channelled  by  primeval  waters,  stands,  in  tru- 
ly claustral  solitude,  the  eldest  monastery  of  wes- 
tern Christendom, —  S.  Benedicti  ejusque  sororis 
St3e  Scolasticae  virginis.  Thirteen  centuries  bear 
witness  to  the  strength  of  a  young  and  lowly  girl, 
who,  penetrated  with  a  feeling  of  the  vanity  of  this 
world  even  before  she  could  have  experienced  it, 
and  led  by  protecting  angels,  felt  herself  nearer  to 
God  here  in  her  rocky  cell,  among  serpents  and 
young  eagles,  than  amidst  all  the  majestic  basilica 
of  Rome. 

Breathing  the  pure  fresh  air  of  the  mountains,  / 
under  the  blue  sky  of  the  south,  you  look  down  on 
a  valley  through  which  flow  the  green  waters  of 
the  Horatian  Anio,  and  beyond  it  the  nearer  hori- 
zon is  girded  by  a  fourfold  chain  of  wooded  hills, 
the  loftier  tops  of  which  are  adorned  with  pictur- 
esque villages.  You  see  the  sun  go  down  behind 
the  sere  and  barren  wall  of  rocks.  Here  I  have 
once  more  had  occasion  to  feel  how  tranquilly  life 
glides  on  in  a  cloister. 

(MS.  Letter.) 


Be  and  continue  poor,  young  man,  while  others 
around  you  grow  rich  by  fraud  and  disloyalty  ;  be 
without  place  or  power,  while  others  beg  their  way 
upward  ;  bear  the  pain  of  disappointed  hopes, 
while  others  gain  the  accomplishment  of  theirs  by 


40 


flattery  ;  forego  the  gracious  pressure  of  the  hand, 
for  which  others  cringe  and  crawl.  Wrap  yourself 
in  your  own  virtue,  and  seek  a  friend,  and  your 
daily  bread.  If  you  have,  in  such  a  course, 
grown  gray  with  unblenched  honor,  bless  God, 
and  die. 

Heinzelmann. 


The  most  agreeable  of  all  companions  is  a  sim- 
ple, frank  man,  without  any  high  pretensions  to  an 
oppressive  greatness  :  one  who  loves  life  and  un- 
derstands the  use  of  it  ;  obliging,  alike  at  all 
hours  ;  above  all,  of  a  golden  temper,  and  stead- 
fast as  an  anchor.  For  such  an  one  we  gladly  ex- 
change the  greatest  genius,  the  most  brilliant  wit, 
the  profoundest  thinker. 

Lessing. 


Of  all  thieves  fools  are  the  worst,  they  rob  you 
of  time  and  temper. 

Goethe. 


VOYAGE  DOWN  THE  DANUBE. 

Vienna,  July  20,  1810. 
I  arrived  here  last  Saturday,  after  a  voyage 
down  the  Danube  from  Regensburg  which  lasted 
six  days.     The  Danube,   especially  from  Lintz 
hither,  is  so  rapid  that  the  boat  could  make  the 


41 


voyage  in  three  days  at  most,  so  that  we  lay  to  and 
rested  at  night.  A  common  passage-boat  is  de- 
tained for  days  by  the  custom-house  annoyances. 
From  Lintz  downwards  our  boat  made  thirty  miles 
(German)  in  two  half-days  ;  but  I  liked  it  all  the 
better,  as  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  looking 
about  and  enjoying  the  view  at  my  leisure.  If  you 
have  careful  sailors,  the  multitude  of  whirlpools 
(among  which  the  Saurussel  is  the  most  magnifi- 
cent) make  the  voyage  a  treat  which  I  enjoyed  like 
an  imperial  banquet. 

The  build  of  such  a  passage-boat  is  so  ludicrous- 
ly slight  that,  even  before  you  know  the  danger, 
you  go  on  board  and  look  at  it  to  see  how  the  joke 
is  to  end.  It  is  all  of  deal  cut  with  axe  and  saw, 
like  a  sort  of  model  ;  without  iron,  cordage,  can- 
vass, tar,  pitch,  anchor,  or  any  thing  that  is  gener- 
ally thought  necessary  to  work  a  vessel.  There 
is  a  single  cable  for  mooring  ;  —  mast  and  sail  are 
out  of  the  question,  since  the  tub  imitates  the  pro- 
gress of  the  Israelites  into  the  promised  land. 
The  seams  are  stuffed  with  moss  and  regularly 
sewed  together  with  wire.  It  is  about  a  hundred 
tons  burthen,  a  hundred  and  twenty  feet  long  and 
sixteen  or  seventeen  broad,  and  is  quite  water- 
tight. Our  company  consisted  of  an  Irish  doctor  ; 
a  German  engraver,  who  held  extraordinary  dis- 
courses on  art,  and  was  bearded  about  the  mouth 
and  chin  after  the  fashion  of  the  middle  ages  ;  an 


42 


apothecary,  a  butcher,  a  sword-cutler,  a  capuchin 
monk,  women,  children,  travelling  handicraftsmen 
and  your  humble  servant.  The  artisans,  who 
were  to  pay  little  or  nothing  for  their  passage, 
bound  themselves  to  stand  to  the  helm  two  hours 
at  a  time  in  turns,  but  they  were  rather  lazy  about 
it.  In  the  cool  of  morning  and  evening  I  gave 
them  a  hand,  which  made  matters  go  on  better,  and 
at  last  even  the  women  and  girls  took  a  share  in  this 
hard  labor.  A  tailor  had  a  dispensation,  in  consid- 
eration of  sewing  on  the  buttons  to  our  coats  and 
breeches  and  mending  our  linings  and  pockets  ; 
some  of  the  girls  washed  our  stockings  and  pocket 
handkerchiefs. 

This  motley  company  was  so  gay  and  joyous 
that  the  six  days  flew  like  six  hours.  The  boatmen 
had  on  board  some  of  the  best  Bavarian  beer  ;  meat 
and  bread  and  wine  we  could  lay  in  fresh  every 
morning  ;  and  in  short  we  might  have  gone  on  in 
this  way  to  Peterwardin  and  wanted  for  nothing. 
For  my  own  particular,  I  was  little  tormented  with 
custom-house"  plagues. 

Zelter.    (Briefwechsel  mit  Goethe.) 


The  most  perfect  specimens  of  ordinary  women 
have  a  very  acute  and  distinct  perception  of  all  the 
boundary  lines  of  every-day  existence,  and  guard 
themselves  conscientiously  from  overstepping  them. 


43 


Hence  their  well-known  and  remarkable  uniformity. 
They  cannot  bear  excess,  even  in  refinement,  deli- 
cacy, truth,  virtue,  passion.  They  delight  in  va- 
riety of  the  common  and  accustomed.  No  new 
ideas,  —  but  new  clothes.  Fundamental  monotony, 
—  superficial  excitement.  They  love  dancing,  on 
account  of  its  light,  vain,  and  sensual  character. 
The  highest  sort  of  wit  is  insufferable  to  them,  — 
as  well  as  the  beautiful,  the  great,  the  noble  ;  mid- 
dling, or  even  bad  books,  actors,  pictures,  and  the 
like,  delight  them. 

Novalis. 


 This  Ranz  de  Vaches  at  once  awaked  his 

blooming  childhood,  and  she  arose  out  of  the  morn- 
ing dew  and  out  of  her  bower  of  rosebuds  and  slum- 
bering flowers,  and  stepped  before  him  in  heavenly 
beauty,  and  smiled  innocently  and  with  her  thou- 
sand hopes  upon  him,  and  said,  "Look  at  me, — 
how  beautiful  I  am  !  We  used  to  play  together.  I 
formerly  gave  thee  many  things,  —  great  riches, 
gay  meadows,  and  bright  gold,  and  a  fair  long  para- 
dise behind  the  mountains  ;  but  now  thou  hast 
nothing  of  all  this  left,  —  and  how  pale  thou  art  ! 
O  play  with  me  again  !  " 

Before  which  of  us  has  not  childhood  been  a 
thousand  times  called  up  by  music  ?  and  to  which 
of  us  has  she  not  spoken,  and  asked,  —  "  Are  the 
rosebuds  which  I  gave  thee  not  yet  blown  ?  "   Alas  ! 


44 

blown  indeed  they  are,  —  but  they  were  pale,  white 
roses. 

Jean  Paul. 


Shame  is  a  feeling  of  profanation.  Friendship, 
love,  and  piety  ought  to  be  handled  with  a  sort  of 
mysterious  secrecy  ;  they  ought  to  be  spoken  of 
only  in  the  rare  moments  of  perfect  confidence,  — 
to  be  mutually  understood  in  silence.  Many  things 
are  too  delicate  to  be  thought,  —  many  more,  to 
be  spoken. 

JYovalis. 


Extract  from  a  Discourse  on  the  Advantage  of  Dialects  in  the 
Greek  Language,  spoken  at  Munich,  October  12th.  1808. 

The  land  of  ancient  Greece  has  indeed  utterly 
deserted  those  boundaries  which  formerly  encircled 
its  free  and  intelligent  inhabitants.  The  life  of  the 
most  vivacious  and  active  of  all  people  is  extinct. 
Her  cities,  once  the  resort  of  high  and  unequalled 
virtues,  the  worthy  abode  of  gods,  the  rich  garden 
of  every  art,  are  sunk  into  melancholy  villages,  in 
which  an  ignorant  and  needy  people  heedlessly 
build  their  hovels  on  the  ruins  of  antiquity,  without 
any  reverential  sentiment,  —  almost  without  any 
recollection  of  the  heroic  times  of  which  those 
stones  yet  bear  witness.  The  ancient  streams, 
some  of  which  still  retain  their  former  names,  glide 


45 


mournfully  through  a  desert  country  ;  the  gods  who 
dwelt  on  their  banks  and  in  their  grottos,  have  de- 
parted from  them,  and  the  wondrous  songs  which 
recounted  the  story  of  every  fount  and  hill  and 
grove,  to  the  ears  of  a  free  and  susceptible  people, 
are  all  hushed. 

Their  strong  and  manly,  their  tender  and  grace- 
ful language  survives  only  in  a  faint  and  melan- 
choly dissonance.  But  what  that  ancient  land  and 
her  degenerate  inhabitants  no  longer  afford,  the 
memory  of  the  days  of  her  glory  still  affords  in  rich 
abundance.  Still  do  the  deeds  of  Grecian  antiquity 
live  in  all  hearts  ;  still  are  the  remains  of  her  art 
the  joy  of  the  world,  —  the  possession  of  them  the 
pride  of  the  conqueror  ;  still  do  the  noblest  minds 
drink  from  the  exhaustless  fountains  of  her  science  ; 
still  are  congenial  spirits  enkindled  at  the  flame  of 
her  genius  :  and  as  of  yore  her  pious  sons  sought 
instruction  and  comfort  at  the  sanctuary  of  her  ora- 
cles, so  does  every  noble  mind,  whose  aspirations 
the  present  fails  to  satisfy,  seek  comfort  and  tran- 
quillity in  the  calm  asylum  of  Hellenic  wisdom. 
Here  does  her  language  still  bloom  in  the  immortal 
charms  of  its  youthful  and  manly  beauty  ;  and  as 
the  spirit  of  Grecian  antiquity  reigns  over  the  whole 
domain  of  modern  art  and  science,  so  does  her  lan- 
guage breathe  over  us  an  air  of  higher  and  more 
finished  perfection.  Wheresoever  this  vivifying 
breath  has  been  felt,  it  has  elevated  all  minds,  has 


46 

unfolded  the  blossoms  of  beauty  and  ennobled  the 
tones  of  language. 

Fr.  Jacobs. 


ROMAN  ART. 

As  the  whole  collective  history  of  civilized  man 
(with  the  exception  of  India)  was  now  concentred 
in  Rome,  so  likewise  was  that  of  Art.  But  this  was 
solely  the  result  of  the  political  supremacy  of  Rome, 
not  of  her  artistical  talent.  The  Romans,  although 
intimately  allied  to  the  Greeks,  were  made  of 
a  sterner,  harder,  and  less  finely-organized  stuff. 
Their  minds  were  constantly  turned  toward  those 
external  relations  of  men  by  which  their  actions 
are  generally  regulated  and  determined  (or,  as  we 
should  say,  to  practical  life)  ;  at  first,  more  to  those 
which  regard  the  community  (that  is,  political)  ; 
afterwards,  when  freedom  had  perished,  to  those 
which  concern  individuals  in  their  intercourse  with 
each  other,  and  especially  to  those  grounded  on  the 
relation  of  men  to  worldly  possessions.  To  maintain, 
to  increase,  to  secure  the  res  familiaris,  was  no- 
where regarded  so  strongly  in  the  light  of  a  duty  as 
here.  The  careless  ease,  the  playful  freedom  of 
mind  which,  abandoning  itself  absolutely  to  internal 
impulses,  gives  birth  to  the  arts,  was  a  stranger  to 
the  Romans.  Religion  too,  in  Greece  the  mother 
of  art,  was,  among  the  Romans,  both  in  her  earlier 


47 


form  of  an  emanation  from  Etruscan  discipline,  and 
in  her  later,  when  the  deification  of  ethico-political 
ideas  prevailed,  systematically  practical.  This  prac- 
tical spirit  was  however  connected  in  the  Romans 
with  a  grandeur  of  mind  which  contemned  every 
thing  petty  and  half-formed,  which  met  all  the  ne- 
cessities of  life  by  vast  and  effective  undertakings, 
and  hence  maintained  the  glory  of  at  least  one  of 
the  arts,  —  Architecture. 

Ottfried  Midler.    (Handbuck  der  Arclidologie.) 


 I  know  not  whether  deluding  spirits  haunt 

this  spot,  or  if  it  be  only  my  own  warm  and  bright 
fancy  that  gives  every  thing  around  me  the  hue  of 
paradise.  Just  before  me  is  a  fountain,  to  which 
I  am  spell-bound,  like  Melusina  and  her  sisters. 
You  go  down  a  little  hill  and  find  yourself  in  front 
of  an  arch,  to  which  you  descend  by  about  twenty 
steps,  and  there  a  spring  of  the  most  limpid  water 
gushes  out  from  between  marble  rocks.  The  low 
wall  which  forms  its  enclosure,  the  high  trees  that 
overshadow  it,  the  coolness  of  the  place,  —  all  con- 
spire to  give  it  the  captivation  and  the  solemnity 
of  enchanted  ground.  Not  a  day  passes  in  which 
I  do  not  sit  there  an  hour.  Thither  come  the  maid- 
ens of  the  town  to  fetch  water,  —  the  most  inno- 
cent of  occupations,  and  the  most  necessary,  — 
once  the  employment  of  kings'  daughters.    As  I 


4S 


sit  there,  the  images  of  patriarchal  manners  live 
and  move  before  me.  The  venerable  fathers  of  the 
race  meet  and  converse,  woo  and  give  in  marriage, 
and  every  fount  and  rill  is  the  haunt  of  beneficent 
spirits. 

He  who  cannot  sympathize  with  me  can  never 
have  known  what  it  is  to  sit  by  the  cool  and  gush- 
ing waters,  after  the  toilsome  wanderings  of  a  sum- 
mer's day. 

Goethe.    (Leiden  des  jungen  Werthers.) 


THE  BLIND  GIRL. 

"  The  blind  Agnes  was  sitting  by  a  clear  brook  ; 
—  I  can  never  forget  that  evening  ;  the  brook 
glittered  along  the  winding  valley,  and  the  stars 
and  the  moon  played  in  the  pearly  waves  at  the 
feet  of  the  blind  girl,  and  either  bank  was  fringed 
with  a  thicket,  the  bowery  home  of  the  nightin- 
gales. As  I  came  nearer, — how  was  it,  Her- 
mione  ?  " 

"You  heard,  then,  a  friend  reading  to  her  by 
moonlight  out  of  Thomson's  c  Seasons. 5  " 

"And  sweetly  she  read,  but  soft  and  low.  At 
my  voice,  —  physiognomy  to  the  blind, — the  dark 
one  knew  me  and  presented  her  friend  to  me,  who 
immediately  lifted  up  her  long  veil.  I  had  seen 
her  once  before  ;  you  must  know  where,  reverend 
Sir  ?  " 


49 


"  In  a  convent  at  which  the  emperor  after- 
wards suppressed.  The  recommendation  of  an 
abbot,  to  whom  I  had  introduced  a  priest  who 
could  read  mass  more  rapidly  than  any  other  priest 
living,  opened  my  path  to  the  refectory,  where,  out 
of  all  the  nuns,  who  were  generally  too  fat,  only 
one  pleased  me  ;  and  she  was  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other,  for  she  was  a  novice,  —  this  very  friend 
of  the  blind  girl.  I  shall  never  forget  that  gentle, 
pale,  serene  face,  with  a  wooden  trencher  on 
which  were  only  lentils,  set  before  it  for  mortifica- 
tion's sake." 

"  So  strange  are  we  men  ;  I  should  much  more 
willingly  see  a  lovely  creature  suffer,  sigh,  and 
weep  bitter  tears  from  fruitless  love  of  me,  for  two 
whole  days,  than  endure  that  she  should  have  to 
eat  a  miserable  piece  of  ashen  bread,  or  wear  a 
garment  of  humiliation  or  a  girdle  of  hair-cloth, 
or  do  penance  by  a  walk  of  three  miles  on  my  ac- 
count." 

"Do  you  relate  the  rest,  Hermione  ;  you  had  it 
from  me." 

"  You  told  me,  further,  that  the  good  Agnes  was 
more  cheerful  than  the  nun,  and  willingly  alluded 
to  her  misfortune,  which  you  would  not  have  ex- 
pected." 

"  Yes,  for  women  speak,  while  we  men  are  si- 
lent, about  griefs  ;  we  always  turn  over  the  leaves 


50 


of  the  romance  of  our  lives,  to  get  at  the  pleasant- 
est  pictures  and  the  last  chapter.    But  go  on." 

"The  good  girl  hung  a  black  gauze  over  her 
dead  eyes,  out  of  consideration  for  others.  She 
always  looked  at  you  when  you  spoke,  but  it  was 
only  the  voice  she  sought.  You  asked  her  what 
the  British  scene-painter  of  nature,  (that  was  your 
expression,)  or,  indeed,  what  a  fine  evening,  could 
be  to  her  ?  She  said  she  enjoyed  a  cheerful  day  as 
much  as  any  one  ;  that  the  air  was  purer  and  fresh- 
er, the  song  and  call  of  the  birds  clearer,  and  the 
gurgling  and  rustling  of  the  brook  and  leaves  more 
pleasant  ;  and  when  all  this  entered  her  watchful 
soul,  she  rejoiced  to  its  inmost  depths  without 
knowing  wherefore." 

"  Who,  then,  can  help  being,  as  I  am,  ashamed 
and  repentant  at  the  murmurings  in  which  we  often 
pass  a  few  cloudy  days,  when  he  thinks  of  the 
contented  spirit  which  is  blessed  even  through  all 
its  wholly  benighted  ones  ?  But  blindness,  though 
a  polar  winter  without  day,  in  this  resembles  the 
night,  —  that  it  softens  and  stills  ;  the  blind  is  a 
child  whom  its  mother,  Nature,  has  fashioned  dark- 
ling for  the  deepest  tranquillity.  Like  a  man  in  a 
balloon,  high  above  the  clouds,  the  hermit-blind 
knows  only  voices  and  sounds  ;  but  the  bewilder- 
ing, gaudy  shows  of  life,  the  low,  hateful  and  hat- 
ing forms,  full  of  wounds  and  scars,  are  hidden 
under  the  thick  cloud  which  enwraps  him." 

Jean  Paul.  {Titan.) 


51 


The  noble  merchant  character,  —  the  genuine 
spirit  of  commerce,  —  existed  only  in  the  middle 
ages,  especially  in  the  German  Hanse  towns. 
The  Medici,  the  Fugger,  were  merchants  ;  our 
merchants,  the  greatest  not  excepted,  are  shop- 
keepers. 

Novalis. 


LETTER    FROM    JACOBI    TO  HEINSE. 

"          But  what  I  most  wish  to  tell  you  of,  my 

kind-hearted  Heinse,  and  can  least  find  words  to 
describe,  is  the  infinite  felicity  I  felt  at  being  once 
again  in  my  own  Pempelfort.  When  I  drove  into 
the  court  yard,  it  was  as  if  the  gates  of  paradise 
opened  to  me.  In  a  moment  I  saw  Betty,  and  be- 
hind her  Frank,  Max,  and  Clara,  flying  toward  me. 
The  two  eldest,  whom  I  brought  home  with  me, 
threw  open  the  carriage-doors  on  each  side  and 
sprang  out  to  meet  their  mother.  There  was  such 
a  rush  and  confusion  of  kisses  and  embraces,  as  if 
we  were  all  blind.  In  the  midst  of  it  however  I 
could  hear  my  children  exclaiming  to  each  other 
between  their  kisses,  Do  you  know  me  ?  Do 
you  ?  and  you  ?  Yes,  you  are  such-an-one,  and 
you  such-an-one.  My  name  is  Clara,  —  I  am 
Max.  Meanwhile  my  brother  and  sister  had  join- 
ed us  ;  and  now  the  whole  troop  proceeded  to 
greet  the  old  grandfather,  who  was  deeply  moved 
and  knew  not  how  to  support  the  joy. 


52 


ct  My  delight  increased  every  hour.  For  eleven 
weeks  I  had  had  neither  peace  nor  rest  ;  I  had 
been,  —  pardon  my  impudent  comparison,  —  like 
Orpheus  torn  in  pieces  by  the  Bacchanals.  I  had 
longed  for  freedom  and  quiet  with  the  most  in- 
tense, passionate  longing.  Here  I  find  both,  — 
find  them,  surrounded  with  every  charm.  My  dis- 
tracted, exhausted  mind  is  already,  as  if  by  a  mir- 
acle, collected,  refreshed,  strengthened.  Yes,  my 
dearest  friend,  it  was  just  as  if  I  stood  on  the  spot 
whither  all  the  departed  powers  of  my  life  had  fled, 
and  they  thronged  around  me  in  a  celestial  dance. 
My  cheerful  dwelling,  which  admits  every  ray  of 
sunshine,  —  my  favorite  garden,  crowded  by  the 
care  of  the  sturdy  Louis  with  all  the  late-blooming 
plants  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  —  all,  all, 
enchants  me,  and  the  longer  I  am  here  the  more  I 
am  delighted.  I  have  been  incessantly  reviewing 
my  possessions,  and  I  could  not  measure  them. 
The  whole  world  was  mine.  Even  the  sun  and 
moon  in  the  high  heavens  shine  with  so  peculiar  a 
lustre  on  my  own  dear  home,  that  it  always  seems 
to  me  as  if  they  belonged  to  it,  —  as  if  they  were 
mine,  —  like  the  ground,  —  like  the  trees  I  plant- 
ed, —  and  as  if  the  rest  of  mankind  borrowed  light 
of  me.  Dear  friend,  and  thus  has  it  been  with 
me  every  day  since  my  return  ;  and  thus  is  it 
again  to-day.  Even  when  my  flowers  are  withered 
and  my  trees  stripped  of  their  leaves,  —  when  a 


53 


gloomy  mist  clouds  air  and  earth  and  robs  me  of 
half  the  already  shortened  day, —  even  then  I  am 
joyous  and  cheerful  :  I  see  in  all  these  only  the 
quick-revolving  year,  and  the  approaching  spring 
which  returns  to  me  every  time  in  increased  beau- 
ty, —  yes,  in  increased  beauty,  dear  Heinse  ;  — you 
shall  see  it,  if  you  will  but  come,  and  you  shall 
find  my  heart  warmer,  more  frank,  more  open, 
stronger,  better.  O  !  what  a  shout  of  joy,  if  I 
could  but  once  more  press  you  to  it,  —  once  more 
have  you  and  hold  you  !  " 

Jacobi. 


It  is  alleged  that  English  and  German  tragedies 
contain  so  many  shocks  to  good  taste.  French 
tragedies  are  one  single  and  entire  shock.  For 
what  can  be  more  repugnant  to  good  taste  than  to 
write  and  to  delineate  what  is  completely  out  of 
nature  ? 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


THE  ARTIST  TO  HIS  PUPIL. 

My  Dear  Emilius, 

I  am  anxious  before  we  part  to  speak  with  you 
once  more,  and  to  repeat  to  you  in  writing  what  I 
have  such  countless  times  sought  to  impress  upon 
your  heart  still  more  urgently  and  distinctly  by 
word  of  mouth.  That  you  were  my  pupil,  sufficed 
5 


54 

to  inspire  me  with  a  feeling  of  duty  as  to  your 
character  and  conduct  generally  ;  for  I  cannot 
separate  the  Art  from  the  Man,  who  should  learn 
to  reverence  the  whole  of  an  existence  dedicated 
to  her. 

You  know  how  I  despise  that  so-called  geniality 
which  regards  the  life  of  an  artist  as  a  letter  of 
license  for  every  extravagance,  for  every  offence 
against  morality  and  against  what  is  most  venerable 
in  civil  society.  There  is  no  question  but  that  the 
rejection  of  all  restraint  excites  the  fancy,  or  that 
the  intentional  and  necessary  abandonment  of  the 
mind  to  every  gay  dream  but  too  easily  comes  to 
infect  the  whole  of  practical  life.  It  is  but  too 
sweet  to  float  along  unresisting  with  the  stream: 
But  here  the  true  strength  of  the  man  must  be 
proved  ;  it  must  be  seen  whether  he  rules  the 
spirits,  and  only  permits  them  to  display  their  pow- 
er and  activity  within  the  circle  he  prescribes  to 
them,  or  whether  he  is  possessed  by  them,  and 
whirled  about  in  the  frenzied  mazes  of  an  Indian 
fakeer. 

The  first  and  most  potent  spell  by  which  to  ele- 
vate their  promptings  into  pure  aspirations,  is  per- 
severing industry.  How  foolish  is  it  to  imagine 
that  the  earnest  study  of  means  cripples  the  ge- 
nius !  It  is  only  from  a  mastery  of  them  that  free 
creative  power  can  emanate  ;  it  is  only  when  fa- 
miliar with  all  the  paths  which  have  already  been 


55 


trodden,  and  moving  with  ease  in  them,  that  the 
mind  can  discover  new  ones. 

For  more  than  two  years  I  gave  you  instruction. 
All  the  experience  that  Heaven  had  permitted  me 
to  acquire  I  have  laid  bare  before  you,  with  that 
joy  with  which  one  spares  a  friend  the  labor  one 
has  gone  through  one's  self.  Can  I  now  part  from 
you  with  the  tranquillizing  assurance  that  you  have 
thoroughly  possessed  yourself  of  all  this  ?  Can  I 
say,  here  stands  one  who  has  learnt  his  business, 
and  who  can  answer  all  the  demands  that  the  world 
and  circumstances  may  make  upon  his  productive 
talent  ?  Can  I  feel  secure  that  the  ground-work 
is  firm  ? 

Dear  Emilius,  you  have  so  much  acuteness,  so 
much  ambition,  so  much  talent,  —  you  will  sin 
against  God,  your  parents,  art,  yourself  and  me,  if 
you  give  yourself  up  longer  to  this  dreamy  intoxi- 
cation ;  if  you  do  not  learn  to  live  for  the  world 
and  in  the  world  with  steadfast  perseverence  in 
good,  and  with  that  order  which  alone  gives  war- 
rant of  a  soul  truly  devoted  to  honor.  Your  uncer- 
tainty, your  disregard  of  every  promise  and  every 
engagement,  is  become  proverbial  among  all  your 
acquaintances.  It  is  the  grace  and  glory  of  a  man 
to  be  the  slave  of  his  word.  Delude  not  yourself 
with  the  notion  that  you  may  be  untrue  and  uncer- 
tain in  trifles,  and  in  important  things  the  contrary. 
Trifles  make  up  existence,  and  give  the  observer 


56 


the  measure  by  which  to  try  us  ,  and  the  fearful 
power  of  habit,  after  a  time,  suffers  not  the  best 
will  to  ripen  into  action. 

My  dear  Emilius,  whatever  pain  the  repetition 
of  all  this  may  give  you,  it  gives  me  much  more. 
You  are  become  a  part  of  myself, — you  are  so 
near  to  me  ;  and  must  I  again  say  such  things  to 
you  ? 

But  I  commit  you  to  Him  who  leads  all  to  good. 
In  every  life  there  are  critical  turns  which  deter- 
mine the  color  of  all  the  remainder.  Let  this  be 
such  an  one.  Impose  on  yourself  wants  which  may 
call  out  your  art  ;  place  your  honor  in  being  inde- 
pendent, and  you  will  feel  yourself  richly  indemni- 
fied and  rewarded  for  every  privation. 

I  embrace  you  from  my  heart,  and  give  you  my 
sincerest  good  wishes  as  companions  of  your  way. 
May  you  give  the  lie  to  all  my  fears,  and  hereafter 
be  able  to  reach  out  your  hand  to  me  from  above 
me. 

Heaven's  best  blessings  be  upon  you. 

Your  faithful  teacher  and  friend, 

c.  m.  v.  WEBER. 

(Hintcrlassene  Schriften.) 


Enthusiasm  is  always  connected  with  the  sen- 
ses, whatever  be  the  object  that  excites  it.  The 
true  strength  of  virtue  is  serenity  of  mind,  combined 


57 


with  a  deliberate  and  steadfast  determination  to  ex- 
ecute her  laws.  That  is  the  healthful  condition  of 
the  moral  life  ;  on  the  other  hand,  enthusiasm, 
even  when  excited  by  representations  of  goodness, 
is  a  brilliant  but  feverish  glow  which  leaves  only 
exhaustion  and  languor  behind. 

Kant.  (Tugendlehre.) 


Every  thing  that  tends  to  emancipate  us  from 
external  restraint,  without  adding  to  our  own  pow- 
er of  self-government,  is  mischievous. 

Goethe. 


 Was  then  the  migration  of  tribes  and  the 

consequent  state  of  society  in  the  middle  ages  a 
necessary  antecedent  of  our  better  times  ? 

Asia  can  resolve  us  this  question.  Why  did  not 
free  Greek  states  flourish  in  the  track  of  Alexan- 
der's expeditions  ?  Why  do  we  see  China,  con- 
demned to  a  melancholy  stability,  grow  old  in 
eternal  childhood  ?  Because  Alexander  conquer- 
ed with  humanity  :  because  the  small  band  of  his 
Greeks  were  lost  among  the  millions  of  the  great 
king.  Because  the  hordes  of  Mantchu  were  im- 
perceptible in  the  huge  territory  of  China.  They 
subjected  only  men  ;  laws  and  manners,  religion 
and  the  constitution  of  the  state,  remained  victori- 
ous.   For  countries  despotically  governed  there  is 


I 


58 

no  salvation  save  in  complete  overthrow.  Leni- 
ent conquerors  only  transplant  fresh  tribes  among 
them,  nourish  the  sickly  body,  and  perpetuate  its 
disease.  That  the  infected  land  might  not  poison 
the  healthful  conqueror,  —  that  the  German  in 
Gaul  might  not  sink  into  a  Roman,  as  the  Greek 
in  Babylon  degenerated  into  a  Persian,  it  was 
necessary  that  the  form  which  might  be  dangerous 
to  his  imitative  spirit  should  be  shivered  in  pieces, 
and  that  he  should  remain  in  every  respect  the 
strongest,  on  the  new  theatre  which  he  now  trod. 

Schiller. 


GERMANY,  AS  SEEN  BY  A  POET. 

 In  those  days  we  had  more  remains  of  the 

old  times  before  our  eyes.  The  traveller  found 
monasteries,  ecclesiastical  principalities,  free  im- 
perial cities  :  many  ancient  buildings  were  not  as 
yet  pulled  down  or  ruined  ;  many  works  of  elder 
German  art  not  yet  torn  away  ;  many  customs 
handed  down  from  the  middle  ages  yet  remaining  : 
the  popular  festivals  had  more  of  character  and 
joyousness  ;  and  at  every  few  miles  he  found  dif- 
ferent manners,  different  buildings,  a  different  form 
of  society.  To  see,  to  feel  all  these  varieties,  and 
to  bring  them  together  into  one  picture,  was  for- 
merly my  project.  To  investigate  what  peculiar  and 
characteristic  remains  of  painting,  sculpture,  and 


59 


architecture  our  country  possesses  ;  what  are  the 
manners  and  constitutions  of  each  province  and 
city  ;  to  correct  the  misrepresentations  of  our  mod- 
ern, trivial  history  writers,  to  show  what  aspect  of 
nature  surrounds  each  race  of  men,  fashions  it, 
and  is  fashioned  by  it;  —  all  this  such  a  work  ought 
to  accomplish. 

I  would  defend,  against  vulgar  jeers  and  gibes, 
the  noble  race  of  Austrians,  who,  in  their  fruitful 
land  and  amid  their  enchanting  hills,  preserve  un- 
changed their  antique  joyousness  of  heart;  I  would 
praise  the  warlike  and  pious  Bavarians  ;  paint  the 
friendly,  sensible,  inventive  Suabians,  in  the  gar- 
den of  their  beautiful  country  ;  the  animated,  gay 
Franconians,  in  the  romantic,  varied  scenery  of 
their  province,  of  which  Bamberg  was  formerly 
the  German  Rome  ;  the  intelligent  dwellers  along 
the  banks  of  the  lordly  Rhine  ;  the  brave,  honest 
Hessians  ;  the  handsome  Thuringians,  whose  for- 
est-clad mountains  still  wear  the  character  and  as- 
pect of  knightly  times  ;  the  Low  Germans,  who 
resemble  the  true-hearted  Hollander  and  the  ener- 
getic Englishman  :  —  at  every  remarkable  spot  of 
the  land  of  our  fathers  would  I  recall  ancient  his- 
tories. And  thus  did  I  think  to  wander  amid  all 
the  hills  and  valleys  of  our  noble  country,  once  so 
flourishing  and  so  great,  watered  by  the  Rhine  and 
the  Danube,  and  the  stream  of  old  traditions  ; 
guarded  by  lofty  mountains,  frowning  castles,  and 


60 


by  the  brave  German  heart  ;  garlanded  with  green 
meadows,  the  abode  of  love  and  confidence  and 
single-mindedness. 

Truly  he  to  whom  it  is  given  in  such  a  manner 
to  paint  the  country  of  his  birth  and  his  affections, 
out  of  his  own  most  deep  and  immediate  feelings, 
and  wholly  without  affectation,  —  such  an  one  will 
have  conceived  a  work  of  the  most  enchanting 
poetry. 

Tieck.  (Phantasns.) 


Modern  poets  put  a  great  deal  of  water  in  their 
ink. 

Goethe. 


Not  only  is  it  very  difficult  to  find  truth,  but 
when  we  have  found,  we  are  forced  to  deny  it. 

Rahel. 


THE   HAKTZ  MINERS. 

Quiet  and  monotonous  as  the  life  of  these  peo- 
ple appears,  it  is  nevertheless  a  true  living  life. 
The  aged,  palsied  woman  who  sat  by  the  stove, 
over  against  the  large  cupboard,  may  have  sat 
there  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  her  thoughts  and 
feelings  have  doubtless  grown  into  every  corner  of 
this  stove  and  into  every  rude  carving  of  this  cup- 
board.   And  the  stove  and  the  cupboard  live,  for 


61 

a  human  being  has  infused  into  them  a  portion  of 
its  own  soul. 

It  was  this  life  of  contemplation,  —  of  immedi- 
ate perceptions, — that  gave  birth  to  the  German 
Miirchen*,  the  peculiarity  of  which  consists  in  this, 

—  that  not  only  animals  and  plants,  but  also  ob- 
jects apparently  destitute  of  all  life,  speak  and  act. 
To  the  thoughtful  and  simple  people  in  the  quiet, 
contented  privacy  of  their  lowly  cottages  on  moun- 
tain or  in  forest,  the  inward  life  of  such  objects 
revealed  itself ;  they  acquired  an  indelible  and 
consistent  character,  a  charming  mixture  of  fan- 
tastic humor  and  thoroughly  human  dispositions. 
And  so  we  see  them  in  the  Mdrchen,  in  which  the 
wildest  wonders  are  told  in  the  easy  matter-of- 
course  style  of  daily  occurrences  :  needles  and 
pins  come  out  of  the  tailor's  shed  and  lose  them- 
selves in  the  dark  ;  straws  and  bits  of  charcoal 
try  to  cross  the  brook  and  are  cast  away  ;  the 
shovel  and  the  broom  stand  upon  the  step  and 
quarrel  and  fight  ;  the  questioned  looking-glass 
shows  the  face  of  the  prettiest  girl,  and  drops  of 
blood  begin  to  speak  mysterious  fearful  words  of 
anxious  pity. 

*  Popular  story.  We  have  not  a  corresponding  word.  Fairy 
tale  is  too  exclusive,  since  in  those  here  especially  mentioned 
there  are  no  fairies.  Story  or  tale  is,  on  the  other  hand,  too  gen- 
eral, for  the  marvellous  is  a  necessary  element  of  the  Marchen. 

—  Translator. 


62 


From  the  same  cause  is  our  life  in  childhood  so 
infinitely  significant  ;  at  that  age  every  thing  is 
of  importance  to  us  ;  we  hear  every  thing,  see 
every  thing,  and  all  our  impressions  are  vivid ; 
whereas  at  a  later  age  we  do  every  thing  with  de- 
sign, and  we  lose  in  depth  what  we  gain  in  exten- 
sion of  impressions.  Now,  we  are  grown  up  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies  ;  we  frequently  change  our 
dwelling,  the  housemaid  daily  clears  every  thing 
away,  and  alters  at  her  will  the  position  of  the  fur- 
niture, which  has  little  interest  for  us,  as  it  is  either 
new,  or  it  belongs  to-day  to  John,  to-morrow  to 
Peter  ;  our  very  clothes  are  strangers  ;  we  hardly 
know  how  many  buttons  there  are  on  the  coat  upon 
our  back  ;  we  change  our  clothes  as  often  as  possi- 
ble, so  that  not  one  of  them  remains  connected 
with  our  inward  or  outward  history; — scarcely 
can  we  recollect  the  appearance  of  that  brown 
waistcoat  which  once  brought  so  much  ridicule 
upon  us,  and  upon  whose  broad  stripes  the  dear 
hand  of  our  beloved  rested  so  kindly. 

The  old  woman  by  the  stove,  over  against  the 
great  cupboard,  wore  a  flowered  petticoat  of  faded 
stuff,  the  wedding  garment  of  her  mother.  Her 
great-grandson,  a  fair-haired,  bright-eyed  boy, 
dressed  as  a  miner,  sat  at  her  feet  and  counted 
the  flowers  on  her  petticoat  ;  and  she  has  most 
likely  told  him  many  a  grave  and  pretty  story 
about  this  petticoat,  which  the  boy  will  not  soon 


63 


forget,  which  will  often  float  before  his  fancy 
when,  as  a  full-grown  man,  he  is  at  his  dark  and 
solitary  work  under  ground,  and  which  he  will  per- 
haps tell,  when  the  dear  old  grandmother  has  been 
long  dead,  and  he,  a  silver-haired,  feeble  old  man, 
sits  in  the  midst  of  his  grandchildren,  near  the 
stove,  over  against  the  great  cupboard. 

Heinrich  Heine.  (Reisebilder.) 


....  But  man  is  higher  than  his  dwelling-place  ; 
he  looks  up  and  unfolds  the  wings  of  his  soul,  and 
when  the  sixty  minutes  which  we  call  sixty  years 
have  passed,  he  takes  flight,  kindling  as  he  rises, 
and  the  ashes  of  his  feathers  fall  back  to  earth, 
and  the  unveiled  soul,  freed  from  its  covering  of 
clay,  and  pure  as  a  tone,  ascends  on  high.  Even 
in  the  midst  of  the  dim  shadows  of  life,  he  sees 
the  mountains  of  the  future  world  gilded  with  the 
morning  rays  of  a  sun  which  rises  not  here  below. 

So  the  inhabitant  of  polar  regions  looks  into  the 
long  night  in  which  there  is  no  sun-rise  ;  but  at 
midnight  he  sees  a  light  like  the  first  rosy  rays  of 
dawn,  gleaming  on  the  highest  mountain  tops,  — 
and  he  thinks  of  his  long  summer  in  which  it  never 
sets. 

Jean  Paid. 


64 


 Within  these  few  days  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field fell  accidentally  into  my  hands  ;  I  could  not 
help  reading  the  charming  book  again  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  —  not  a  little  affected  by  the  lively 
recollection  how  much  I  had  been  indebted  to  the 
author  seventy  years  ago.  It  is  not  to  be  describ- 
ed the  effect  which  Goldsmith  and  Sterne  had  upon 
me,  just  at  the  critical  moment  of  mental  develope- 
ment.  That  lofty  and  benevolent  irony,  —  that  fair 
and  indulgent  view  of  all  errors,  —  that  meekness 
under  all  calamities, — that  equanimity  under  all 
changes  and  chances,  —  and  the  whole  train  of 
kindred  virtues,  whatever  names  they  bear,  formed 
my  best  education  ;  and,  in  the  end,  these  are  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  have  reclaimed  us 
from  all  the  errors  of  life. 

It  is  remarkable,  by  the  by,  that  Yorick  in- 
clines to  the  formless,  while  Goldsmith  is  all  form  ; 
and  accordingly  I  then  gave  myself  up  entirely  to 
him,  because  the  worthy  Germans  had  persuaded 
themselves  that  the  peculiar  characteristic  of  true 
humor  was  formlessness. 

*  #  #  #  # 

But  I  must  now  lead  you  into  opposite  regions  ; 
for  I  must  briefly  report,  that,  in  the  whirlpool  of 
the  literature  of  the  day,  I  have  been  dragged  into 
the  bottomless  abyss  of  horrors  of  the  recent 
French  romance-literature.  I  will  say  in  one 
word, — it  is  a  literature  of  despair.    In  order  to 


65 


produce  a  momentary  effect,  the  very  contrary  of 
all  that  should  be  held  up  to  man  for  his  safety  or 
his  comfort  is  brought  before  the  reader,  who  at 
last  knows  not  whither  to  fly  or  how  to  save  him- 
self. To  push  the  hideous,  the  revolting,  the 
cruel,  the  base,  in  short,  the  whole  brood  of  the 
vile  and  abandoned,  to  impossibility,  is  their  Sa- 
tanic task.  One  may,  and  must,  say  task  ;  for 
there  is  at  the  bottom  a  profound  study  of  old 
times,  by-gone  events  and  circumstances,  remark- 
able and  intricate  plots,  and  incredible  facts  ;  so 
that  it  is  impossible  to  call  such  a  work  either 
empty  or  bad.  And  this  task  even  men  of  re- 
markable talents  have  undertaken  ;  — clever,  emi- 
nent men,  men  of  middle  age,  who  feel  themselves 
damned  henceforward  to  occupy  themselves  with 
these  abominations. 

#  #  *  #  * 

Every  thing  true,  —  every  thing  aesthetical,  is 
gradually  and  necessarily  excluded  from  this  lit- 
erature. Victor  Hugo's  "  Notre  Dame  de  Paris  " 
strikes  by  the  merit  of  industrious,  well-applied 
study  of  old  localities,  manners,  and  events ;  but 
in  the  acting  figures  there  is  not  a  single  trace  of 
natural  life.  They  are  laymen  and  women,  skil- 
fully constructed  after  due  proportions  ;  but,  under 
the  skeleton  of  wood  and  steel,  they  are  only 
stuffed  dolls,  which  the  author  handles  most  unmer- 
cifully, —  twists  and  tortures  them  into  the  strangest 


66 


postures,  —  racks  and  flogs  them, — tears  them, 
body  and  mind  ;  —  it  is  true  it  is  a  lifeless,  fleshless 
thing  that  he  mangles  so  inhumanly.  All  this  is 
done  with  extraordinary  historical  and  rhetorical 
talent  and  an  undeniable  vivacity  of  imagination, 
without  which,  indeed,  he  could  not  produce  such 
atrocities. 

Goethe.  (Brief icechsel  mit  Zelter.) 


Those  who  completely  sacrifice  themselves  are 
praised  and  admired  ;  that  is  the  sort  of  character 
men  like  to  find  in  others. 

Rahel ;  Madame  de  Va.rnh.agen. 


ASPECTS  OF  NATURE. 

We  stand  in  as  many  and  as  immeasurably  dif- 
ferent relations  to  nature  as  to  man  :  and,  as  to  the 
child  she  shows  herself  childlike  and  bends  be- 
nignly down  to  his  infant  heart,  so  to  the  god  she 
shows  herself  godlike  and  attunes  herself  to  his 
high  spirit.  We  cannot  say  that  there  is  one  na- 
ture, without  saying  something  excessive,  exag- 
gerated ;  and  all  attempts  to  arrive  at  truth  by  dis- 
cussions and  conversations  about  nature,  do  but 
remove  us  further  from  the  natural.  Much  is  al- 
ready gained,  when  the  effort  fully  to  understand 
nature  ennobles  itself  into  a  longing,  —  a  tender 


67 


and  humble  longing,  which  even  the  cold,  reserved 
temper  soon  learns  to  delight  in,  if  once  it  feels 
secure  of  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  her. 
There  is  a  secret  attraction  toward  all  points,  di- 
verging from  an  infinitely  deep  centre  within  us. 
As  wondrous  nature,  sensible  and  insensible,  lies 
round  about  us,  we  think  every  one  of  her  features 
an  exercise  of  this  attractive  power,  a  manifesta- 
tion of  the  sympathy  which  exists  between  her  and 
us ;  but  behind  those  blue,  distant  mountains,  one 
man  seeks  the  home  which  they  veil  from  his  sight, 
the  beloved  of  his  youth,  parents,  brothers,  sisters, 
old  friends,  dear  recollections  ;  —  another  thinks 
that,  far  on  the  other  side,  unknown  glories  await 
him  ;  he  believes  that  a  future,  full  of  life  and 
beauty,  lies  hidden  there,  and  he  stretches  his 
hands  wistfully  toward  that  new  world.  Some  few 
stand  motionless  and  serene  in  the  midst  of  the 
glorious  spectacle  ;  they  seek  to  embrace  it  in  its 
fulness  and  concatenation,  but  they  forget  not  in 
the  whole  that  radiant  thread  which  runs  through 
and  enlinks  its  parts,  and  forms  the  holy  crown  of 
light  ;  such  spirits  are  blessed  in  the  contemplation 
of  this  living  and  more  than  midnight  depth  of  all- 
pervading  beauty. 

Thus  arise  manifold  ways  of  viewing  nature  ; 
and  if,  in  some,  sensibility  to  her  beauty  is  a  joy- 
ous sensation,  —  a  banquet,  in  others  we  see  it 
transformed  into  the  most  reverential  religion,  giv- 


68 


ing  direction,  support,  and  significancy  to  the  whole 
of  life.  Even  in  the  infancy  of  nations,  such  deep 
and  earnest  spirits  have  been  found,  to  whom  na- 
ture wore  the  countenance  of  Deity  ;  while  other 
gay  and  joyous  hearts  thought  of  her  only  as  a 
host,  at  whose  bounteous  table  they  might  freely 
seat  themselves.  To  them,  the  free  air  was  a  cor- 
dial drink  ;  the  stars,  lamps  to  illumine  the  nightly 
dance  ;  plants  and  animals,  costly  and  delicate 
viands  :  and  thus  did  nature  present  herself  to 
their  minds,  not  as  a  still  and  awful  temple,  but 
as  a  plenteous  kitchen  and  merry  banqueting-hall. 

In  an  intermediate  class  between  these  two  were 
others,  whose  view  of  nature,  though  differing  from 
the  last,  had  yet  reference  to  the  senses  alone. 
These  saw  in  actual  nature  only  a  vast,  but  as  yet 
wild  and  unreclaimed  park  or  pleasure-ground,  and 
were  busied,  day  and  night,  in  creating  patterns  of 
a  more  refined  and  perfect  nature.  They  divided 
themselves  into  companies  for  the  accomplishment 
of  the  great  work.  Some  sought  to  awaken  mute 
and  forgotten  tones  in  air  and  wood  ;  others  stamp- 
ed their  conceptions  and  images  of  more  beautiful 
forms  on  brass  or  stone  ;  built  up  from  the  rock 
more  stately  piles  for  dwellings  ;  brought  to  light 
hidden  treasures  from  the  clefts  of  the  earth  ; 
tamed  the  wayward  and  lawless  streams  ;  peopled 
the  inhospitable  sea  ;  carried  plants  of  long-known 
and  excellent  virtue  into  desert  zones  ;  checked 


69 


the  wild  overspread  of  forests  and  tended  the 
nobler  flowers  and  herbs  ;  opened  the  earth  to  the 
life-giving  motions  of  generative  air  and  enkindling 
light  ;  taught  colors  to  blend  and  arrange  them- 
selves in  beautiful  pictures,  and  wood  and  meadow, 
fountain  and  rock,  to  unite  in  one  lovely  garden  ; 
breathed  tones  into  the  living  members,  unfolded 
their  mysterious  connexion,  and  taught  them  to 
move  in  livelier  and  more  joyous  vibrations  ; 
adopted  the  defenceless  animals  which  were  sus- 
ceptible of  some  touch  of  human  culture,  and 
cleared  the  woods  of  those  noxious  beasts  which 
seemed  like  the  monstrous  births  of  a  distempered 
fancy. 

Soon  did  nature  assume  a  kindlier  aspect  :  she 
was  softer,  and  more  refreshing,  and  willingly 
hearkened  to  all  the  wishes  of  man.  By  degrees, 
her  heart  began  to  have  a  human  motion  ;  her 
fancies  were  brighter  ;  she  became  social,  and 
freely  replied  to  the  friendly  inquirer  ;  and  so  the 
golden  age  appeared  to  be  gradually  returning, 
when  she  was  the  friend,  the  comforter,  the  priest- 
ess of  men  ;  when  she  lived  among  them,  and  her 
divine  society  and  intercourse  raised  them  into 
immortals. 

Novalis. 


 How  did  he  long  after  the  learning  and  the 

teachers  of  whose  existence  he  had  a  dim  presenti- 

6 


70 


ment  !  But  so  much  the  better  !  It  is  only  hun- 
ger that  digests,  it  is  only  love  that  fertilizes  ;  the 
sigh  of  longing  is  the  aura  seminalis  which  must 
quicken  the  Orpheus  egg  of  knowledge.  This 
you  bethink  not  yourselves  of,  you  expeditious 
teachers,  who  give  your  children  drink  before  you 
give  them  thirst,  —  who  grant  young  souls  no  quiet 
hours,  —  but,  like  unskilful  vine-dressers,  are  ever 
busy  about  the  young  vines,  trimming,  manuring, 
and  pruning  them  even  in  the  season  of  their  blos- 
soming. And  now,  after  having  driven  them 
untimely,  and  with  unripe  organs,  into  the  great 
empire  of  truth  and  beauty,  thus  blunting  them 
against  lovely  nature,  can  you  in  any  way  compen- 
sate to  them  for  that  Great  Year  which  they  would 
have  lived,  if  they  had  grown  up,  like  the  new- 
created  Adam,  and  looked  around  the  magnificent 
intellectual  world  with  open,  thirsty  mind  ?  Hence 
is  it  that  your  pupils  are  so  like  footpaths,  which 
in  spring  are  green  the  earliest,  but  afterwards  are 
but  a  sere  and  yellow  track  through  the  blooming 
meadow. 

Jean  Paul. 


The  fact  is  indisputable.  Our  popular  schools 
are  not  only  unsatisfactory,  and  wholly  inadequate 
to  the  cultivation  of  those  natural  powers  of  which 
man,  in  a  state  of  society,  stands  in  need  ;  they 
have,  in  many  respects,  been  positive  obstacles  in 


/ 


71 

the  way  of  the  purely  psychological  developement 
of  those  powers.  For  even  the  faculties  which 
have  been  regarded  as  the  most  important  and  val- 
uable have  been  subjected  to  a  training,  in  which 
knowledge  is  forced  into  the  mind  without  any  ex- 
ercise of  the  powers  of  thought  or  feeling  ;  the 
superficial  acquirement  of  so-called  truths  has 
been  preferred  to  the  inculcation  of  principles,  or 
the  practice  of  the  arts  of  life  ;  and  the  true  and 
real  developement  of  the  innate  faculties  of  man 
has  been  rendered  subordinate  to  useless  and 
showy  accomplishments. 

Pestalozzi. 


Notes  to  a  poem  are  like  anatomical  lectures  on 
a  savorv  joint. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


A  certain  degree  of  solitude  seems  necessary 
to  the  full  growth  and  spread  of  the  highest  mind  ; 
and  therefore  must  a  very  extensive  intercourse 
with  men  stifle  many  a  holy  germ,  and  scare  away 
the  gods,  who  shun  the  restless  tumult  of  noisy 
companies  and  the  discussion  of  petiy  interests. 


Novulis. 


72 


THE  CHURCHYARD. 

 They  went  out.  The  heavens  were  un- 
clouded. All  the  streets  of  the  city  of  God, 
lighted  with  suns,  stretched  upwards  from  the 
narrow  crossways  of  the  town  to  that  broad  am- 
phitheatre of  night  in  which  we  breathe  the  blue 
aether  and  drink  the  night  wind.  Every  social 
festival  ought  to  be  closed  and  consecrated  by  a 
visit  to  that  wide,  cool  temple,  on  whose  vaulted 
roof  the  star-mosaic  forms  the  mighty  and  sacred 
image  of  the  Most  Holy. 

They  sauntered  along,  refreshed  and  elevated 
by  the  swift-winged,  spring-like  breezes  which 
sweep  the  snow  from  the  mountains.  All  nature 
gave  the  promise  of  a  mild  winter  ;  —  such  a  win- 
ter as  leads  the  poor  gently  over  the  darkest  quar- 
ter of  the  year  without  fuel  ;  such  a  winter  as  the 
wealthy  regret,  because  it  furnishes  no  snow  for 
gay  sledge-parties. 

The  two  men  fell  into  a  discourse  suited  to  the 
sublime  aspect  of  the  night.  Lenette  said  nothing. 
"How  near  and  how  small,"  exclaimed  Firmian, 
"  do  those  pitiful  oyster-beds,  the  villages,  lie  to- 
gether !  yet  when  we  travel  from  one  to  the  other, 
the  way  appears  to  us  as  long  as  to  a  mite  which 
creeps  from  one  name  to  another  on  a  map  ;  per- 
haps to  higher  spirits  our  globe  is  but  as  a  ball 


73 


for  children,  which  their  tutor  turns  about  and 
explains." 

" There  may,  however,"  said  Stiefel,  "be  still 
smaller  worlds  than  ours  ;  and  indeed  ours  must 
be  of  some  importance,  since  Christ  died  for  it." 

This  remark  flowed  like  warm  life-blood  into 
Lenette's  heart.  Firmain  only  replied,  "  For  the 
earth  and  for  them  that  dwell  upon  it,  more  than 
one  redeemer  has  died  ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that 
Christ  takes  many  a  pious  man  by  the  hand  and 
says,  'Thou  too  hast  suffered  under  Pilate  ! '  Nay, 
many  a  seeming  Pilate  is,  in  truth,  a  Messias." 

Lenette  secretly  feared  that  her  husband  was  an 
atheist,  or  at  least  a  philosopher.  He  led  them 
both  through  winding  ways  to  the  church-yard  ; 
but  all  at  once  his  eyes  were  moistened,  as  if  he 
had  passed  through  a  heavy  dew.  He  sought  to 
give  vent  to  his  melancholy  in  philosophical  mus- 
ings, and  in  this  vein  he  said,  "  Men  and  clocks 
stop  if  they  are  wound  up  too  forcibly.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  dim  intervals  by  which  sleep  and 
death  distribute  and  sever  our  existence,  prevent 
the  too  strongly  increasing  brightness  of  one  idea, 
the  burning  of  never-cooled  wishes,  and  the  vehe- 
ment conflux  of  thoughts  ;  as  the  planetary  sys- 
tems are  divided  by  wide  tracts  of  dim  space,  and 
the  solar  systems  by  yet  wider.  The  human  mind 
cannot  catch  the  endless  stream  of  knowledge, 
which  sweeps  on  through  all  perpetuity,  except  it 


74 


drink  in  the  pauses  and  breaks  of  the  current. 
Those  mid-summer-nights  which  we  sometimes 
call  sleep,  sometimes  death,  divide  that  eternal 
day  which  wou'd  blind  our  mental  eye,  into  por- 
tions of  day,  and  enclose  its  noontide  between 
morning  and  evening." 

He  opened  the  small,  creaking,  rattling  wicket- 
gate,  inscribed  with  the  pious  verse  and  the  me- 
mento of  the  brief  span  of  life.  They  reached  the 
more  considerable  graves  which  lay  round  the 
church, — the  dike  around  this  fortress.  Here 
stood  many  an  upright  stone  above  the  still,  mo- 
tionless body  beneath  ;  further  off  lay  only  the 
trap-doors  which  had  closed  over  prostrate  men. 
He  brought  a  naked  skull  into  their  company,  and 
raised  up  this  last  case  of  a  many-housed  spirit  in 
both  his  hands,  and  looked  in  at  the  empty  case- 
ments of  the  ruined  palace,  and  said,  iC  At  mid- 
night, one  ought  to  ascend  the  pulpit  there  within, 
and  lay  this  scalped  mask  of  conscious  identity  on 
the  desk,  instead  of  the  Bible  and  hour-glass,  and 
preach  from  it  to  the  other  heads  which  are  as  yet 
cased  in  their  skins.  If  they  have  a  mind,  they 
may  cut  off  mine  when  I  am  dead,  and  hang  it  in 
the  church  to  the  capital  of  a  pillar,  like  the  an- 
gels' head  round  a  font  ;  so  that  foolish  mortals 
may  look,  some  from  above  and  some  from  be- 
neath, and  see  how  we  float  between  heaven  and 
the  grave.  In  our  hands,  my  friend,  the  grub  is 
still  at  work,  but  out  of  this  he  has  taken  his  flight, 


75 


winged  and  transformed  ;  for,  look  !  here  are  the 
two  holes,  and  the  kernel  crumbled  to  dust*  ! " 

Lenette  was  frightened  at  this  irreverend  jesting 
in  the  neighbourhood  and  domain  of  ghosts  :  —  it 
was,  in  reality,  only  a  disguised  exaltation  of  spirit. 
Suddenly  she  whispered,  "  See,  something  is  look- 
ing at  us  over  the  roof  of  the  charnel-house  and 
raising  itself  up  !  "  It  was  only  a  cloud  which  the 
evening  wind  had  driven  upwards,  and  which  had 
rested  on  the  roof  in  the  form  of  a  bier  ;  and  out 
of  it  a  hand  stretched  forth,  and  close  above  it  a 
star  stood  in  its  brightness  over  the  likeness  of  a 
body  lying  on  the  bier,  — just  at  the  heart  ;  — like 
a  white  flower  stuck  in  the  breast  of  a  bride. 

Jean  Paul. 


As  it  is  in  himself  alone  that  man  can  find  true 
and  enduring  happiness,  so  in  himself  alone  can  he 
find  true  and  efficient  consolation  in  misfortune. 

Babo. 


If  commonplace  men,  hurried  by  vulgar  per- 
plexities into  a  display  of  passionate  fear,  extort 
from  us  a  pitying  smile  ;  on  the  other  hand,  we 

*  Two  holes  in  a  hazel-nut  are  said  to  show  that  the  fly,  which 
in  its  grub  state  had  eaten  away  the  kernel,  has  assumed  its  new 
form,  and  taken  flight. 


76 


regard  with  awe  a  spirit  in  which  the  seed  of  a 
great  destiny  is  sown  ;  —  which  can  accelerate 
neither  the  good  nor  the  evil,  neither  the  happi- 
ness nor  the  unhappiness,  that  will  spring  up 
from  it. 

Goethe. 


PAUPERISM. 

I  have  known  a  great  deal  of  the  indigent. 
Some  wanted  only  a  plank  over  which  to  cross  the 
pool  and  land  on  dry  ground  ;  others  had  for  ever 
done  with  this  life,  and  sought  for  nothing  more  in 
it  but  a  momentary  resting-place  for  the  sickness 
and  feebleness  of  age.  But  by  far  the  greater 
number  were  rogues  and  thieves,  who  instead  of 
reaching  the  pockets  of  their  neighbours  by  means 
of  force  or  fraud,  took  the  far  less  dangerous  way 
of  stealing  into  their  hearts. 

Undoubtedly  it  is  of  great  importance  to  assist 
upright,  industrious  men  who  have  a  sense  of  honor 
and  independence,  wherever  it  is  evident  that  they 
are  tottering  under  the  blows  of  fortune  ;  to  save 
them  from  breaking  down,  and  from  falling  into 
despair  and  moral  destruction.  But  I  doubt 
whether  this  be  the  vocation  of  the  authorities  of 
a  country.  It  is  difficult,  from  the  point  of  view 
taken  by  a  man  in  public  life,  to  have  an  accurate 
insight  into  the  condition  and  relations  of  individu- 
als.   Involuntarily,  (I  confess  it  with  regard  to 


77 


myself,)  individuals  assume  the  aspect  of  masses, 
abstractions,  numbers,  calculations.  I  am  there- 
fore inclined  to  conclude  that  the  relations  between 
man  and  man,  between  family  and  family,  must,  as 
a  general  rule,  be  left  to  themselves  ;  and  certain- 
ly, if  the  facts  were  known,  millions  of  the  needy 
and  suffering  whose  sighs  and  complaints  are  the 
less  likely  to  reach  the  ears  of  those  in  power,  the 
more  quiet  and  modest  they  are,  (and  therefore  the 
more  deserving  of  respect,)  are  helped  through 
momentary  difficulties  by  those  almost  impercepti- 
ble and  transient  succours  of  kinsfolk,  friends,  or 
neighbours,  which  leave  no  permanent  traces. 
But  th-e  state  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  weak  and 
the  failing  ;  they  come  within  the  minus  quantity 
in  the  calculation  of  the  common  weal  ;  for  which 
reason,  I  can  perfectly  explain  how  in  some  coun- 
tries men  have  fallen  into  the  extreme  of  putting 
them  entirely  out  of  the  way,  though,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  do  not  blame  individuals,  —  even  rulers,  in 
so  far  as  they  act  as  individuals,  — for  Contributing 
whatever  they  see  fit  to  the  rescue  of  those  who 
are  ready  to  perish. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  third,  and  by  far  most 
numerous  class  of  the  indigent,  —  the  many- 
headed  monster  of  vagabonds,  rogues,  and  idlers  of 
all  kinds,  —  requires  the  utmost  vigilance  and  ac- 
tivity of  the  government.  Whoever  has  entered 
this  corporation  becomes  a  fit  object  of  the  preven- 


78 


tive  vigilance  of  the  police,  and  the  inflexible  se- 
verity of  the  magistrate.  But  as  the  superfluous 
interference  of  the  government  in  the  former  cases 
thwarts  the  salutary  operation  of  individual  benev- 
olence, so  in  these,  the  mistaken  benevolence  of 
individuals  thwarts  the  wise  measures  of  the  gov- 
ernment. Those  who  dwell  in  lonely  places  give 
from  fear,  the  inhabitants  of  towns  and  villages 
from  weariness  or  soft-heartedness  ;  and  in  this 
manner  sources  of  subsistence  open  themselves 
on  every  side  to  the  vagabond,  which  make  him 
disregard  the  hostilities  of  the  police,  and  render 
his  lot  in  many  respects  truly  enviable. 

Rumohr.    [Deutsche  Denkictirdigkeiten.) 


Not  alone  to  know,  but  to  act  according  to  thy 
knowledge,  is  thy  destination,  —  proclaims  the 
voice  of  my  inmost  soul.  Not  for  indolent  con- 
templation and  study  of  thyself,  nor  for  brooding 
over  emotions  of  piety, — no,  for  action  was  ex- 
istence given  thee  ;  thy  actions,  and  thy  actions 
alone,  determine  thy  worth. 

Ficlite.    [Bestimmung  des  Menschen.) 


The  true  priest  of  the  Highest  is  he  who  brings 
it  nearer  to  those  whose  minds  seldom  reach  above 
the  finite  and  the  low  ;   who  sets  heavenly  and 


79 


eternal  things  before  them  as  a  source  of  enjoy- 
ment and  a  bond  of  union,  —  as  the  only  exhaust- 
less  spring  of  that  to  which  all  their  efforts  are 
directed.  Thus  he  strives  to  waken  the  sleeping 
germ  of  a  better  humanity,  to  enkindle  the  love  for 
the  lofty,  to  transform  the  meaner  into  a  nobler 
life,  to  reconcile  the  children  of  earth  to  the  heav- 
en which  is  theirs,  and  to  hold  the  balance  against 
the  stupid  devotion  of  the  age  to  mere  material 
good.  This  is  that  higher  priesthood  which  reveals 
the  depths  of  all  spiritual  mysteries,  and  whose 
voice  comes  down  from  the  kingdom  of  God  ;  this 
is  the  source  of  all  visions  and  prophecyings,  of  all 
holy  works  and  inspired  words  which  are  scattered 
about,  as  if  at  random,  that  the  apt  spirit  may  re- 
ceive them,  and  may  bring  forth  fruit. 

O  that  the  day  might  come  when  this  function 
of  mediator  might  cease,  and  the  priesthood  of 
humanity  receive  a  fairer  destination  !  That  the 
day  might  come,  described  by  ancient  prophecy, 
<c  when  none  shall  need  that  any  should  teach  him, 
for  all  shall  be  taught  of  God  "  !  If  the  sacred  fire 
were  everywhere  burning,  there  would  be  no  need 
of  fervent  prayer  to  draw  it  down  from  heaven,  but 
only  of  the  calm  watching  of  holy  virgins  to  tend 
it ;  nor  would  it  then  break  out  into  those  flames 
which  now  often  strike  terror,  but  the  hidden  fire 
would  glow  with  equal  warmth  in  all  hearts.  Every 
man  would  then  silently  enlighten  himself  and  oth- 


80 


ers,  and  the  communication  of  holy  thoughts  and 
feelings  would  consist  only  in  the  easy  task  of 
combining  or  dividing  the  different  rays  of  this 
light  ;  now  diffusing  it,  then  again  concentrating 
it  on  one  object.  Then  would  the  slightest  word 
be  understood,  whereas  now  the  clearest  expres- 
sions do  not  escape  misunderstanding.  Then  would 
men  press  together  into  the  penetralia  of  the  sanc- 
tuary, whereas  now  they  are  occupied  with  the 
preparations  of  the  outer  court. 

Schleiermacher.   (  Ueber  die  Religion.) 


We  celebrate  nobler  obsequies  to  those  we  love 
by  drying  the  tears  of  others,  than  by  shedding  our 
own  ;  and  the  fairest  funeral  wreath  we  can  hang 
on  their  tomb,  is  not  so  fair  as  a  fruit-offering  of 
good  deeds. 

Jean  Paul. 


He  who  can  take  advice  is  sometimes  superior 
to  him  who  can  give  it. 

Von  Knebel. 


The  year  is  dying  away  like  the  sound  of  bells. 
The  wind  passes  over  the  stubble  and  finds  nothing 
to  move.  Only  the  red  berries  of  that  slender  tree 
seem  as  if  they  would  fain  remind  us  of  something 


81 

cheerful  ;  and  the  measured  beat  of  the  thresher's 
flail  calls  up  the  thought,  that  in  the  dry  and  fallen 
ear  lies  so  much  of  nourishment  and  life. 

Goethe.    ( Wahlverwandsckaften.) 


NAPLES. 

It  is  impossible  to  witness  the  singular  and  uni- 
versal gayety  and  joyousness  of  the  people  of  Na- 
ples without  the  greatest  sympathy  and  delight. 
The  many-colored,  brilliant  flowers  and  fruits  with 
which  nature  decks  herself,  appear  to  invite  man 
to  adorn  his  person  and  all  that  surrounds  him  with 
the  brightest  possible  tints.  Silken  handkerchiefs 
and  ribbons,  and  flowers  on  the  hat,  are  seen  on 
every  one  who  has  any  means  of  procuring  them. 
Even  in  the  smallest  houses  the  chairs  and  sofas 
are  painted  with  gay  flowers  on  a  gold  ground  ;  the 
one-horse  caleches  are  striped  with  bright  red,  the 
carved  work  is  gilded,  the  horses  are  decorated 
with  artificial  flowers,  scarlet  fringes  and  tassels 
and  gold  tinsel.  Many  wear  on  their  heads  plumes 
of  feathers,  others  little  flags,  which  flutter  in  every 
breeze  as  they  move  swiftly  along.  We  usually 
call  the  love  of  gaudy  colors  barbaric  and  taste- 
less ;  in  some  cases  it  may  be  so  ;  but  under  a 
perfectly  clear  and  blue  sky  nothing  is  gaudy,  for 
nothing  can  outshine  the  splendor  of  the  sun  and  of 
its  reflection  on  the  sea.    The  most  brilliant  color 


82 


is  deadened  by  the  intense  light ;  and  as  all  hues, 
the  greens  of  trees  and  plants,  and  the  yellow, 
brown  and  red  earthly  tints,  crowd  upon  the  eye  in 
their  fullest  beauty,  gay  flowers  and  dresses  blend 
in  a  universal  harmony.  The  scarlet  bodices  and 
petticoats,  trimmed  with  broad  bands  of  gold  and 
silver,  of  the  women  of  Nettuno,  the  other  national 
costumes,  the  gayly-painted  boats,  —  every  object 
seems  to  strive  to  become  visible  under  the  daz- 
zling splendor  of  sea  and  sky. 

And  as  they  live,  so  do  they  bury  their  dead. 
No  long  sable  train  there  disturbs  the  harmony  of 
the  joyous  world. 

I  saw  a  child  borne  to  the  grave.  A  large  red 
velvet  pall,  richly*  embroidered  with  gold,  covered 
a  broad  bier,  on  which  stood  a  carved  chest,  highly 
decorated  with  gold  and  silver.  In  this  lay  the 
dead,  clad  in  white  garments,  adorned  with  rose- 
colored  ribbons.  At  the  four  corners  of  the  chest 
were  four  angels,  each  holding  a  large  bunch  of 
flowers  over  the  body.  As  they  were  only  fasten- 
ed at  the  feet  by  wires,  they  moved  with  the  motion 
of  the  bier,  and  appeared  to  scatter  odors  over  the 
dead  child.  This  tremulous  motion  of  the  angels 
was  increased  by  the  rapidity  with  which  the  pro- 
cession hastened  through  the  streets,  —  for  the 
priests  and  taper-bearers  rather  ran  than  walked. 

Goethe.    (Italiclnische  Reise.) 


83 


 One  sweet  evening  of  August,  he  was  in  a 

mood  of  gentler  melancholy  than  usual  ;  over  his 
countenance  floated  that  bright  serenity  of  resigna- 
tion, that  tearless  emotion,  that  smiling  gentleness, 
which  we  sometimes  see  when  sorrow  is  rather  ex- 
hausted than  elevated,  —  as  the  soft  reflection  of 
the  rainbow  falls  back  upon  the  blue  heaven.  He 
determined  to  take  a  lonely  farewell  of  his  beloved 
scenes. 

Over  the  light  landscape  hung  (to  his  mind,  not 
to  his  eye)  a  thin,  undulating  mist,  like  the  fine 
aerial  veil  thrown  over  the  pictures  of  Berghem 
and  Wouvermans.  He  visited,  he  touched,  he 
gazed  upon,  —  as  if  to  bid  farewell,  — every  bushy 
shrub,  under  whjse  shadow  he  had  been  wont  to 
read  ;  every  small  dark  whirlpool  which  foamed 
and  gurgled  amid  the  gnarled  and  bare-washed 
roots  ;  every  fragrant  mossy  rock  ;  every  step  in 
the  ascent  of  hill  above  hill,  on  which  he  had  arti- 
ficially multiplied  the  rising  or  the  setting  of  the 
sun  ;  every  spot  where  the  great  creation  had 
drawn  tears  of  enthusiasm  from  his  too  happy  heart. 
But  amidst  the  high  and  full-eared  harvest,  — 
amidst  the  manifold  stores  of  creation,  —  in  the  life- 
teeming  nest  of  brooding  nature,  —  in  the  seed- 
ground  of  the  rich  boundless  garden,  —  a  hollow, 
long-drawn  voice  was  heard  through  the  trumpet 
tones  of  this  festival  of  nature,  asking,  "  What 
dead  thing  wanders  amid  my  universal  life,  and 


84 


defiles  my  fair  flowers  ?  "  But  the  gloomy  vision 
vanished  ;  and  he  thought,  It  is  not  the  green  bark 
which  sustains  the  Dryad,  —  the  spiritus  rector,  — 
but,  on  the  contrary,  receives  from  it  life  and  vig- 
or. The  life  of  the  body  is  as  dependent  on  the 
spirit  as  that  is  subject  to  corporeal  influences. 
Life  and  power  throng  around  ;  the  grave,  —  the 
decaying  body,  —  is  a  world  full  of  active  power  : 
we  change  our  part,  but  we  never  quit  the  stage. 

Jean  Paul.  (Siebenkcls.) 


At  the  termination  of  a  war  and  the  signing  of  a 
treaty  of  peace,  it  might  not  be  unbefitting  that  the 
proclamation  of  a  day  of  thanksgiving  should  be 
immediately  followed  by  one  of  fast  and  penitence, 
wherein  to  implore  pardon  of  Heaven  for  the  griev- 
ous sin  which  the  race  of  man  is  continually  com- 
mitting ;  inasmuch  as  no  nation  will  submit  to  any 
legal  restraint  or  agreement  in  relation  to  other 
nations,  but,  proud  of  its  independence,  chooses 
rather  to  resort  to  the  barbarian  expedient  of  war 
(by  which  that  which  is  sought,  —  viz.  the  right  of 
each  nation,  —  can  never  in  any  case  be  ascer- 
tained). 

The  thanksgivings  and  rejoicings  on  occasion  of 
a  victory,  the  hymns  which  (in  a  genuine  Judaical 
spirit)  are  sung  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  stand  in  the 
strongest  contrast  to  the  moral  conception  of  the 


85 


Father  of  Men  ;  since  they  not  only  show  a  total 
indifference  to  the  nature  of  the  means  by  which 
nations  seek  to  establish  their  right  respectively, 
(which  is  melancholy  enough,)  but  display  a  posi- 
tive joy  at  having  destroyed  the  lives,  or  ruined  the 
happiness,  of  multitudes  of  human  beings. 

Kant.    (Zum  ewigen  Frieden.) 


What  is  there  in  man  so  worthy  of  honor  and 
reverence  as  this,  —  that  he  is  capable  of  contem- 
plating something  higher  than  his  own  reason,  — 
more  sublime  than  the  whole  universe  ;  that  Spirit 
which  alone  is  self-subsistent,  —  from  which  all 
truth  proceeds, — without  which  is  no  truth  ? 

F.  H.  Jacobi. 


Character  is  a  perfectly  educated  Will. 

Novalis. 


The  institutions  of  a  country  depend  in  great 
measure  on  the  nature  of  its  soil  and  situation. 
Many  of  the  wants  of  man  are  awakened  or  sup- 
plied by  these  circumstances.  To  these  wants, 
manners,  laws,  and  religion  must  shape  and  ac- 
commodate themselves.  The  division  of  land  and 
the  rights  attached  to  it  alter  with  the  soil  ;  the 
7 


86 


laws  relating  to  its  produce,  with  its  fertility.  The 
manners  of  its  inhabitants  are  in  various  ways  mod- 
ified by  its  position.  The  religion  of  a  miner  is 
not  the  same  as  the  faith  of  a  shepherd,  nor  is  the 
character  of  the  ploughman  so  warlike  as  that  of 
the  hunter.  The  observant  legislator  follows  the 
direction  of  all  these  various  circumstances.  The 
knowledge  of  the  natural  advantages  or  defects  of 
a  country  thus  form  an  essential  part  of  political 
science  and  history. 

Justus  Mdser.    (OsnabrUckische  Geschichte.) 


Master  Jacobus  Polychorus,  who  lived  in  Stras-* 
burg  in  the  U  th  century,  says,  in  a  little  book  he 
wrote,  —  "  The  German  people  is  more  especially  a 
trustworthy,  veracious,  constant,  bold,  and  manly 
people  ;  likewise  liberal,  mild,  hospitable,  undaunt- 
ed, laborious,  temperate,  honest,  cheerful-minded, 
and  covetous  of  a  good  name  ;  one  that  in  all 
things  seeketh  to  lead  the  wits  of  men,  and  to  be 
beforehand  in  all  knowledge.  And  thus  Germany 
yieldeth  to  no  land  in  all  arts,  and  knowledge  of 
tongues  and  new  inventions.  From  her  have  we 
printing,  and  the  use  of  fire-arms,  and  many  other 
arts.  And  likewise  is  Germany  a  right  blessed 
and  favored  country,  lying  under  a  temperate  sky, 
abounding  in  all  manner  of  grain,  and  in  all  the 
riches  of  water  or  wood  ;  having  sufficiency  of  va- 


87 

rious  wines,  metals,  and  all  materials  for  useful 
works.  And  the  Germans  are  kind-hearted  and 
generous  to  strangers,  gentle  and  placable  to  sup- 
plicants, prompt  and  forward  in  war  ;  neither  on 
foot  nor  on  horse  yielding  to  any." 


handel's  Messiah. 

Herder  has  somewhere  or  other  called  Handel's 
Messiah  a  Christian  Epos,  —  and  this  is  a  perfect 
description  of  it  in  one  word  ;  for  this  work,  in  its 
fragmentary  compilation,  really  expresses  the  en- 
tire cycle  of  Christianity  with  as  much  of  truth  as 
of  intelligence  and  poetry. 

I  have  always  thought  that  the  whole,  consider- 
ed as  an  opus,  arose  accidentally  ;  nor  can  I  de- 
part from  that  opinion. 

The  great  festivals  of  the  Christian  church  af- 
forded the  composer  in  Handel's  time  an  opportu- 
nity of  setting  to  music  verses  from  the  Bible,  out 
of  which  the  finest  peculiarities  of  effect  must  arise. 
Handel,  who  had  taste  and  heart  enough  to  reject 
the  vile  versions  then  in  use,  collected  together  the 
verses  which  relate  to  the  passion,  got  some  clever 
man  to  put  the  hooks  and  links  which  are  wanted 
to  connect  them  (if  he  did  not  do  it  himself),  and 
thus  has  arisen  a  cyclical  work  which  I  distribute 
into  four  or  five  parts. 


88 


Part  1.  The  annunciation  of  the  Messiah  from 
above,  through  the  mouths  of  the  prophets  ;  the 
work  or  end  of  redemption  ;  mysterious,  yet  like 
the  dawn  of  morning,  —  "Comfort  ye,"  Stc, — 
breathing  a  spring  freshness. 

Part  2.  The  Nativity  ;  first  known  to  shepherds. 
The  introduction  (Siciliano),  a  delightful  pasto- 
ral, ought  to  precede  the  chorus  "For  unto  us  a 
child  is  born."  In  Mozart's  score  the  chorus,  very 
improperly,  is  put  first.  The  chorus  is  playful, 
undulating,  childlike,  —  nay  childish, — at  the  be- 
ginning; at  length,  at  the  words,  "And  the  gov- 
ernment shall  be  upon  his  shoulders,"  it  towers  in 
all  its  colossal  grandeur. 

Pastoral  character  of  life  and  doctrine  :  "  He 
shall  feed  his  flock."  "  Come  unto  me,  ye  that  are 
weary,"  &c. 

Part  3.  Suffering  and  death  :  denial,  mockery, 
evil  intreatment  ;  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  ;  " 
"Surely  he  hath  borne  our  griefs;"  "All  we 
like  sheep  have  gone  astray;  "  "He  trusted  in 
God  that  he  would  deliver  him  ;  "  "  Thy  rebuke 
hath  broken  his  heart  ;  "  "Behold  and  see,"  &c. 
The  suffering  is  ended  by  death  ;  and  in  this  death 
is  the  victory.    The  redemption  is  accomplished. 

Now  the  consequences  : 

Part  4.  Resurrection  and  eternal  life  :  back  to 
the  heavenly,  — the  infinite.    Prophecy  again  pro- 


S9 


claims,  "  Open  the  gates,  that  the  King  of  Glory 
may  come  in  ;  "  "  The  Lord  gave  the  word  ;  " 
"Why  do  the  heathen;"  "Let  us  break  our 
bonds  asunder  ;  "  "  Hallelujah  ;  "  "I  know  that 
my  Redeemer  liveth  ;  "  "  And  as  through  man 
came  death." 

Part  5.  Apotheosis  :  "  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  ;  " 
"  Glory  and  honor  ;  "  "Amen." 

The  expression  of  such  a  work  is  to  be  taken  as 
a  whole,  though  good,  nay  exquisite  workmanship 
be  not  wanting  in  the  individual  parts. 

The  overture  belongs  to  the  piece  only  in  so  far 
as  it  is  a  foreground,  —  a  title-page  to  the  volume, 
showing  the  clear  blue  heaven  of  prophecy  :  <c  The 
glory  of  God,  the  Lord  shall  be  revealed."  Clear- 
ness, power,  truth,  pervade  the  whole  first  part. 

In  the  second  part,  warm,  bright  night  ;  —  one 
feels  the  starlight.    Pastoral,  sweet,  pure,  serene. 

In  the  third  part,  suffering  and  death  :  brief,  yet 
not  too  condensed  ;  grand,  calm,  touching  ;  no 
torments,  no  crucifixion  or  physical  horrors.  The 
suffering  of  the  righteous  at  the  degradation  of  the 
good  and  the  beautiful,  is  the  ground,  the  deepest 
depth,  over  which  flows  a  crystal  stream  ;  <c  Be- 
hold and  see  if  there  be  any  sorrow,"  &c. 

With  this  the  whole  passion  is  silently  conclud- 
ed, and  the  work  of  atonement  accomplished. 

W'ould  you  like  to  procure  yourself  a  singular 


90 


pictorial  enjoyment  ?  Look  at  the  chorus,  "  For 
unto  us  a  child  is  born."  After  the  shepherds 
have,  as  they  kept  watch  by  night  in  the  fields, 
heard  the  words  of  the  angels,  and  have  recovered 
from  their  alarm,  one  part  begins,  "For  unto  us 
a  child  is  born,"  and  plays  with  the  thought ;  then 
follows  another  in  the  same  manner  ;  then  the 
third,  and  the  fourth ;  till  at  length,  at  the  words 
"Wonderful,  Counsellor,"  &,c.  all  join  ;  the  flocks 
and  herds  on  the  fields,  the  starry  host  through  all 
the  heavens,  —  every  thing  awakes,  and  stirs  itself 
with  gladness  and  strength  of  heart. 

Now,  ye  muses,  enough,  — if  not  too  much.  If 
you  have  heard  the  Messiah,  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  something  about  it  from  you.  I  always  learn, 
when  you  report  any  thing  of  the  kind.  The  wor- 
thy Rochlitz  deserves  many  thanks,  but  his  history 
of  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  Messiah,  a  priori, 
looks  to  me  very  like  all  histories  by  profession. 
The  history  of  a  work  of  art  (and  every  work  of  art 
has  its  individual  history)  is  not  to  be  told  on  the 
fingers,  since  nature  requires  thousands  of  years  to 
make  an  artist,  —  whose  existence  is  itself  an  ac- 
cident. 

Zelter.    (Briefwecliselm.it  Goethe.) 


Last  among  the  characteristics  of  woman,  is  that 
sweet  motherly  love  with  which  Nature  has  gifted 


91 


her  ;  it  is  almost  independent  of  cold  reason,  and 
wholly  removed  from  all  selfish  hope  of  reward. 
Not  because  it  is  lovely,  does  the  mother  love  her 
child,  but  because  it  is  a  living  part  of  herself,  — 
the  child  of  her  heart,  a  fraction  of  her  own  nature. 
Therefore  do  her  entrails  yearn  over  his  wailings  ; 
her  heart  beats  quicker  at  his  joy  ;  her  blood  flows 
more  softly  through  her  veins,  when  the  breast  at 
which  he  drinks  knits  him  to  her.  In  every  uncor- 
rupted  nation  of  the  earth,  this  feeling  is  the  same. 
Climate,  which  changes  every  thing  else,  changes 
not  that.  It  is  only  the  most  corrupting  forms  of 
society  which  have  power  gradually  to  make  luxu- 
rious vice  sweeter  than  the  tender  cares  and  toils  of 
maternal  love.  In  Greenland,  where  the  climate 
affords  no  food  fit  for  infants,  the  mother  nourishes 
her  child  up  to  the  third  or  fourth  year  of  his  life. 
She  endures  from  him  all  the  nascent  indications  of 
the  rude  domineering  spirit  of  manhood,  with  in- 
dulgent, all-forgiving  patience.  The  negress  is 
armed  with  more  than  manly  strength  when  her 
child  is  attacked  by  savage  beasts.  We  read  with 
astonished  admiration  the  examples  of  her  match- 
less courage  and  contempt  of  danger.  But  if  death 
robs  that  tender  mother,  whom  we  are  pleased  to 
call  a  savage,  of  her  best  comfort,  —  the  charm 
and  the  care  of  her  existence,  — where  is  the  heart 
of  man  that  can  conceive  her  sorrow  ?  Read  the 
lament  of  the  Nadowessee  woman,  on  the  loss  of 


92 


her  husband  and  her  infant  son.  The  feeling  which 
it  breathes  is  beyond  all  expression. 

Herder. 


Formerly,  it  was  the  fashion  to  preach  the 
Natural,  now  it  is  the  Ideal.  People  too  often  for- 
get that  these  things  are  profoundly  compatible  ; 
that,  in  a  beautiful  work  of  imagination,  the  Natu- 
ral should  be  ideal,  and  the  Ideal,  natural. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


There  is  a  fable  of  former  ages  which  is  grave 
and  solemn,  and  may  to  some  appear  awful  and 
terrible.  They  figured  to  themselves  their  fore- 
fathers sitting  on  thrones  in  a  circle  around  large 
subterranean  halls  mutely  discoursing.  When  a 
new  inhabitant  entered,  if  he  were  worthy,  they  all 
arose  from  their  seats  and  bowed  their  heads  to 
him  in  welcome. 

Yesterday,  as  I  sat  in  the  chapel  and  fixed  my 
eyes  on  several  other  carved  chairs  over  against 
the  one  on  which  I  was  sitting,  this  thought  seem- 
ed to  me  most  cheerful  and  agreeable.  "  Why 
canst  thou  not  remain  thus  seated  ?  "  I  asked  my- 
self, "  Why  not  calm,  motionless,  and  wholly  with- 
drawn within  thyself,  remain  seated,  long,  long,  — 
until  at  length  the  friends  should  come,  at  whose 


93 


entrance  thou  wouldst  stand  up  and  motion  them  to 
their  places  with  a  friendly  sign  ? 

The  many-colored  casements  turn  the  day  into 
a  dim  and  solemn  twilight,  and  each  must  tend  an 
eternal  lamp,  that  the  night  may  not  be  utterly 
dark. 

Goethe.    ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 


Hypotheses  are  nets,  —  only  he  who  throws 
them  out  will  catch  any  thing.  Was  not  the  dis- 
covery of  America  the  result  of  an  hypothesis  ? 

The  skeptic  has  contributed  just  as  little  (that 
is,  absolutely  nothing)  as  the  vulgar  empiric,  to 
the  enlargement  of  the  field  of  knowledge.  At  the 
most,  the  skeptic  only  shakes  the  very  ground  on 
which  the  individual  hypothesis  stands  :  —  a  strange 
way  of  making  progress,  —  a  very  indirect  service 
at  the  best.  The  true  builder  of  hypotheses  is  no 
other  than  the  inventor,  before  whose  eyes  the 
unknown  country  often  dimly  floats  before  its  dis- 
covery ;  who  carries  this  faint  image  into  every 
observation  and  every  experiment,  and  at  length, 
by  means  of  bold  comparison,  of  repeated  contact 
and  collision  of  his  thoughts  with  experiment,  ar- 
rives at  the  Idea  which  stood  in  a  negative  relation 
to  positive  experience.  Both  are  then  eternally 
connected,  and  a  new  and  celestial  light  surrounds 
the  power  which  is  born  into  the  world. 

Novalis. 


94 


A  man  may  write  very  good  verses,  but  in  spite 
of  that  he  must  not  versify  the  people's  stories  if  he 
has  not  the  true  ballad-singer's  eye,  which  sees 
nothing  in  the  wide  world  but  adventures,  execu- 
tions, love,  murder,  and  deeds  of  violence.  We 
want  the  naive  joy  and  the  naive  lamentations  of 
the  men  and  women  of  the  days  of  knights  and 
fairies,  —  men  and  women  whose  souls  were  a  can- 
vas for  the  reception  of  pictures  ;  who  lived  with 
their  bodies,  thought  with  their  eyes,  and  argued 
with  their  fists. 

Goethe.  (Recensionen.) 


NORWEGIAN  LEGEND. 

Two  little  boys  were  playing  by  the  side  of  a 
river,  and  they  saw  the  Stromkarl  or  water-spirit 
sitting  on  the  shore  and  playing  on  his  harp.  Then 
the  children  called  out  to  him,  and  said,  "  Strom- 
karl, why  do  you  sit  here  playing  ?  There  is  no 
salvation  for  you."  Thereupon  the  Stromkarl  fell 
to  weeping  bitterly,  threw  his  harp  away,  and  sank 
in  the  deep  waters.  When  the  boys  returned  home 
they  related  to  their  father,  who  was  a  godly  man, 
what  had  befallen  them.  The  father  said,  "  You 
have  sinned  against  the  Stromkarl,  —  go  back  and 
comfort  him,  and  tell  him  that  he  too  shall  be 
saved."  When  they  went  back  to  the  river,  the 
Stromkarl  sat  on  the  shore  weeping  and  lamenting. 


95 


And  the  children  said,  "  Weep  not  so,  Stromkarl, 
our  father  says  that  thy  Redeemer  also  liveth." 
Then  the  Stromkarl  joyfully  took  his  harp  and 
played  sweetly  till  sunset.* 

Jacob  Grimm.    {Deutsche  Mythologie .) 


'  Men  find  it  more  easy  to  flatter  than  to  praise. 

Jean  Paul. 


 "It  was  well,"  said  Ernest,  "for  even  in 

our  emotion  we  were  glad.  I  understand  not  the 
joy  of  most  men  :  it  seems  as  if  they  must  keep  at 
a  distance  all  remembrance  of  real  life,  in  order 
with  toil  and  travail,  to  find  in  blind  dissipation 
what  they  call  amusement  and  gayety.  The  ful- 
ness of  life,  —  a  healthful,  powerful  feeling  of  ex- 
istence,—  stands  in  need  of  a  certain  melancholy 

*  Although  the  sacrifices  offered  to  water-spirits  were  forbid- 
den by  Christianity,  and  these  old  objects  of  faith  were  repre- 
sented as  diabolical,  the  people  retained  a  certain  awe  and  rev- 
erence for  them,  and  have  not,  even  now,  lost  all  belief  in  their 
power  and  influence  ;  they  think  of  them  as  unblessed  beings, 
who  will  however  in  time  become  partakers  of  salvation.  To 
this  belief  we  may  trace  the  touching  legend  that  the  StrOmkarl 
or  Neck  requites  those  who  promise  him  redemption  with  his 
enchanting  music. 

I  do  not  know  that  any  legend  contains  so  striking  an  expres- 
sion of  the  need  of  Christianity  to  the  heathen,  or  of  the  mild 
aspect  under  which  it  ought  to  approach  them. 


96 


to  deepen  the  sense  of  pleasure  ;  as  this  same 
sound  and  vigorous  state  of  mind  first  gave  birth  to 
tragedy,  and  is  still  necessary  to  the  enjoyment  of 
it.  The  more  feeble  man  becomes,  —  the  more 
weary  of  life,  the  less  can  he  find  joy  in  any  thing 
but  laughter,  or  the  frivolous  comedy  of  modern 
times.  Shun  him  who  has  lost  all  power  and  relish 
for  aught  but  laughter,  for  with  earnestness  and  a 
lofty  melancholy,  all  the  inward  stores  of  his  life 
have  vanished  :  he  is  bad,  if  he  is  capable  of  being 
any  thing  more  than  a  fool.  The  more  our  sense 
of  existence  is  quickened  and  exalted  by  pleasure 
and  by  love,  the  louder  our  inward  shout  of  triumph 
in  those  few  and  rare  moments  which  a  niggard 
fate  deals  scantily  out  to  us,  the  more  rich  and 
bounteous  ought  we  in  those  moments  to  feel. 

Wherefore  then,  in  these  most  bright  and  beau- 
tiful passages  of  our  lives,  should  we  drive  our 
departed  friends  and  their  love  away  from  us  ? 
Has  death  made  them  our  enemies  ?  Or  is  their 
state,  to  our  apprehension,  so  utterly  afflicting  that 
their  image  must  needs  trouble  our  joy  ?  In  such 
felicity  of  mind  I  would  fain  exclaim,  let  them  come 
to  us,  let  them  come  into  our  arms,  into  our  hearts, 
that  our  riches  may  be  made  richer  !  But  if  you 
can  endure  the  belief  that  they  are  forlorn  and 
helpless,  driven  out  into  the  wide  and  weary  des- 
ert, O !  let  some  drops  from  the  overflowings  of 
your  joy  fall  on  them. 


97 

But  no,  beloved,  departed  one  !  in  such  moments 
I  feel  myself  transported  into  thy  peace  and  thy 
joy  ;  and  thou  art  more  mine  than  in  this  earthly 
life  thou  ever  wast  ;  for  together  with  all  my  love, 
my  highest  and  deepest  sorrow  now  belongs  to 
thee,  —  that  nameless  and  incomprehensible,  anx- 
ious wrestling  with  the  fearful  doubt  of  having  lost 
thee  for  ever  ;  then  was  my  love  first  compelled  to 
call  up  and  to  understand  all  its  strength  ;  then  did 
I  first  win  thee  in  triumph  from  death,  —  never 
more  to  lose  thee  ;  and  from  that  time  thou  art 
mine,  —  mine  without  change,  without  sickness, 
without  misunderstanding  ;  and  thou  smilest  in 
every  smile,  and  swimmest  in  every  tear  of  mine. 

Tieck.  (Phantasus.) 


The  less  tenderness  a  man  has  in  his  nature, 
the  more  he  requires  from  others. 

Rahel. 


There  are  ideal  trains  of  events  which  run  par- 
allel with  the  real  ones.  Seldom  do  they  coincide. 
Men  and  accidents  commonly  modify  every  ideal 
event,  or  train  of  events,  so  that  it  appears  imper- 
fect, and  its  consequences  are  equally  imperfect. 
Thus  it  was  with  the  Reformation,  —  instead  of 
Protestantism,  arose  Lutheranism. 


98 


The  illusion  of  a  past  golden  age  is  one  of  the 
greatest  hindrances  to  the  approach  of  the  golden 
age  that  should  come.  If  the  golden  age  is  past, 
it  was  not  genuine.  Gold  cannot  rust  nor  decay  ; 
it  comes  out  of  all  admixtures  and  all  decomposi- 
tions pure  and  indestructible.  If  the  golden  age 
will  not  endure  it  had  better  never  arise,  for  it  can 
produce  nothing  but  elegies  on  its  loss. 

A.  W.  v.  SchlegeL 


In  youth  we  think  we  shall  be  able  to  build 
palaces  for  men,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  point  we 
have  our  hands  full  with  the  business  of  clearing 
away  their  dirt  and  rubbish.  This  disgusting  work 
requires  great  resignation  ;  but  it  must  be  done. 

Goethe.  {Brief e  an  Lavater.) 


FREDERIC  THE  GREAT  ON  LAW  REFORM. 

Extracted  from  Prtifung  der  Gutachten  der  Konigl:  Preuss.: 
Immediat.  Justiz-Commission.    By  Gravell. 

My  dear  Grand  Chancellor  von  Carmer; 

It  cannot  be  unknown  to  you,  that  so  early  as 
the  year  1746,  and  even  earlier,  I  had  labored  to 
remedy  the  obvious  disorders  and  defects  in  the 
administration  of  justice  in  my  kingdom  and  stales, 
and  that  I  especially  ordered  ; 


99 


1.  That  the  courts  of  justice  should  be  placed 
upon  a  better  footing,  and  provided  with  skilful  and 
honorable  men. 

2.  That  the  procedure  should  be  cleared  of  use- 
less formalities,  the  possibility  of  terminating  suits 
within  a  year  secured  ;  and 

3.  That  the  hitherto  scattered,  vague,  and  am- 
biguous laws  should  be  defined,  and  collected  with 
the  greatest  possible  precision  and  clearness. 

With  regard  to  the  first  article,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  by  the  introduction  of  better  subordination  into 
the  courts  ;  by  more  certain  and  regular  order  in 
all  branches  of  business  ;  and  especially  by  the  in- 
structions, according  to  which  the  candidates  for 
judicial  offices  are  first  subjected  to  the  strictest 
examinations,  then  by  acting  as  referendaries  in 
the  court  for  several  years,  familiarized  with  all 
kinds  of  judicial  labor,  and  their  sentiments  and 
conduct  submitted  to  thorough  investigation,  suf- 
ficient competency  may  be  secured.  But  these 
regulations,  however  well  adapted  to  the  case,  will 
be  fruitless  unless  the  presidents  of  each  court  are 
strictly  held  to  the  most  exact  and  thorough  execu- 
tion of  my  commands. 

It  is,  then,  your  business  to  see  to  this,  in  order 
that  my  intentions  may  be  in  every  particular  ex- 
actly fulfilled  ;  and  to  this  end  you  must  require 
fron  the  presidents  of  the  courts  of  justice  a  list  of 
the  names  of  all  the  members  and  subalterns  of 


100 


such  courts,  with  an  authentic,  impartial,  and  full 
report  of  the  conduct  of  each  individual,  and  must 
desire  that  the  most  exact  inquiries  on  these  points 
be  made  by  them  at  every  visitation.  For  it  is  not 
enough  that  a  servant  of  justice  guard  himself  from 
gross  corruption;  in  every  exercise  of  his  office  he 
must  act  without  the  slightest  passion,  and  avoid 
every  appearance  of  partiality. 

A  man  of  profligate  habits  and  loose  morals  is 
easily  led  to  forget  his  duties  :  such  people  must 
by  no  means  be  suffered  to  have  any  thing  to  do 
with  the  administration  of  justice.  Neither  must 
you  be  restrained  from  the  dismissal  of  such  un- 
worthy persons  by  any  regard  to  their  talents,  their 
family  connexions,  or  any  other  considerations 
whatever. 

If  I  can  thus  make  sure  of  the  purity  and  integ- 
rity of  my  ministers  of  justice,  I,  on  my  part,  will 
leave  them  the  free  and  unobstructed  exercise  of 
their  just  and  honest  authority,  and  will  honor  and 
reward  each  of  them  according  to  his  worth.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  know  no  punishment  too  severe 
to  be  inflicted  on  men  who  are  capable  of  so  far 
disregarding  their  duty,  as  to  convert  an  office 
destined  to  the  protection  of  innocence  and  the 
maintenance  of  justice  into  an  instrument  for  the 
oppression  of  the  one  and  the  destruction  of  the 
other. 

Secondly,  as  to  what  regards  procedure,  I  am 


101 


fully  disposed  to  believe  that  the  abuses  which 
formerly  existed  have  been  removed  ;  nevertheless, 
the  present  system  of  procedure  is  still,  as  you 
must  admit,  at  bottom,  the  ill-contrived  tissue  of 
the  canon  law,  of  which  all  Germany  has  for  cen- 
turies complained. 

It  is  contrary  to  reason  that  the  parties  who  have 
complaints  and  grievances  to  allege  should  not  be 
heard  by  the  judge  himself,  but  must  make  their 
wants  known  through  hired  advocates.  These  ad- 
vocates have  the  strongest  interest  in  the  multipli- 
cation and  prolongation  of  suits,  since  upon  them 
depend  their  gains  and  their  whole  prosperity.  For 
if  the  pleadings,  with  the  evidence  taken  in  the 
course  of  them,  do  not  find  their  way  into  the 
hands  of  the  judge  until  the  advocates  have  in 
writing  wire-drawn,  obscured,  or  mutilated  the 
facts  at  their  own  pleasure,  it  is  natural  enough 
that  he  should  lose  the  right  point  of  view,  decide 
on  inadequate  evidence,  and,  as  he  is  compelled  t 
follow  in  their  tortuous  and  delusive  track,  (often 
against  his  own  conviction,)  be  at  length  necessi- 
tated to  pronounce  a  sentence  manifestly  unjust. 
I  can  hardly  believe  that  any  of  the  plain,  judicious 
lawgivers  of  old  times  devised  so  unnatural  a  sys- 
tem of  procedure.  I  am  much  more  inclined  to 
suspect  that  the  barbarism  of  later  times,  and  the 
convenience  and  ease  of  judges,  gave  birth  to  this 
monstrous  production.    I  find  nothing  in  the  Ro- 


102 


man  law  which  leads  me  to  any  opposite  conclu- 
sion. The  Roman  judges  were  obliged  first  to  in- 
vestigate the  facts  of  the  case  themselves,  before 
the  advocates  appointed  by  the  parties  could  be 
heard,  or  judgment  pronounced  ;  and  if  it  is  true, 
that  even  the  Papal  law  expressly  ordains  that  the 
judge  shall  inquire  into  the  facts,  and  the  advo- 
cates shall  only  speak  to  questions  of  law,  my  con- 
jecture will  be  converted  into  a  certainty. 

Be  that,  however,  as  it  may,  —  it  is  my  decided 
and  express  will  ; 

That  in  future  the  judge  himself  hear  the  parties, 
—  their  complaints  and  answers  ;  that  he  weigh 
their  statements,  and  the  proofs  therewith  adduced, 
one  against  the  other,  and  thus  extract  the  true 
concatenation  of  the  affair  which  gives  occasion  to 
the  suit  ;  and  that,  after  having  so  done,  he  lay 
before  them  proposals  of  accommodation  consistent 
with  fairness  and  justice.  I  feel  assured  that 
merely  by  this  arrangement,  which  will  secure  that 
the  parties  are  completely  instructed  as  to  the  true 
state  and  posture  of  the  case,  by  far  the  greater 
number  of  suits  will  be  settled  by  compromise. 
Even  in  those  cases  which  cannot  be  disposed  of 
by  compromise,  that  elaborate  mode  of  extracting 
evidence  which  has  hitherto  been  the  principal 
source  of  complexity  and  delay,  will  be  rendered 
unnecessary. 

I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  parties  in  a  legal  pro- 


103 


ceeding  are  to  be  refused  legal  assistance  ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  appears  to  me  necessary  both  for  the 
plaintiff  and  defendant,  even  during  the  investiga- 
tion of  the  facts,  to  engage  an  advocate  ;  in  order 
that  if  the  judge,  from  negligence,  want  of  penetra- 
tion, or  partiality,  do  not  conduct  the  investigation 
satisfactorily,  the  advocate  may  remind  him  of  his 
duty,  exercise  a  general  control  over  him,  ascer- 
tain upon  what  the  rights  of  the  parties  are  respec- 
tively founded,  and  use  every  possible  care  and 
precaution  for  the  security  of  his  client. 

In  order,  however,  that  this  new  sort  of  advo- 
cates be  not  again  seduced  into  the  old  tortuous 
path,  the  matter  must  be  so  arranged  that  they 
have  no  interest  in  the  delay  and  complication  of 
suits,  but  must  look  to  a  totally  different  source  of 
prosperity  and  success.  The  referendaries  must 
therefore,  according  to  my  new  system,  be  more 
especially  employed  in  the  investigation  of  matters 
of  fact,  and  be  called  upon  to  act  as  assessors 
to  the  counsel  therein.  Those  referendaries  who 
show  the  greatest  ability  and  penetration  on  these 
occasions,  shall  be  kept  in  view  for  further  ad- 
vancement ;  and  out  of  these  shall  be  chosen  the 
advocates,  or  as  they  might  be  more  aptly  called, 
assistant-counsellors  ;  out  of  these  again,  in  course 
of  time,  the  principal  counsel  of  the  courts  of  jus- 
tice. The  assistant-counsel,  as  well  as  the  chief 
counsel  of  the  courts,  must  be  paid  by  fixed  sala- 


104 


ries  ;  and  to  that  end,  the  fees  which  they  receive 
for  their  functions  as  advocates  must  be  formed 
into  a  common  fee-fund.  It  is  possible  that  very 
few  of  the  present  advocates  will  qualify  them- 
selves to  become  counsel  under  the  new  system, 
and  will  thus  be  left  without  the  means  of  subsist- 
ence. I  would,  however,  make  arrangements,  that 
whatever  useful  and  honorable  men  are  found 
among  them  should  be  employed  by  preference  as 
magistrates,  justiciaries,  and  the  like.  Men  of  no 
merit  whatever  deserve  no  attention. 

Lastly,  as  to  the  laws.  It  appears  to  me  per- 
fectly irrational  and  absurd,  that  they  should  be  for 
the  most  part  written  in  a  language  which  is  not 
understood  by  those  to  whom  they  ought  to  serve 
as  a  guide  and  rule.  It  is  not  less  absurd,  that,  in 
a  country  in  which  there  exists  an  undisputed  legis- 
lative power,  laws  should  be  endured,  which,  by 
their  obscurity  and  ambiguity,  give  continual  occa- 
sion to  the  tedious  disputations  of  lawyers  ;  or  that 
lengthy  suits  should  arise  upon  the  question,  wheth- 
er or  not  such  a  law  or  custom  has  ever  existed, 
or  has  acquired  legal  validity.  You  must  there- 
fore take  especial  care  that  all  laws  for  our  states 
and  subjects  be  drawn  up  in  their  own  language  ; 
that  they  be  perfectly  precise  and  determinate,  and 
collected  into  one  complete  and  compact  body. 

But  as  almost  every  one  of  my  provinces  has  its 
peculiar  constitution,  statutes,  and  customs,  which 


105 


differ  widely  from  each  other,  a  code  or  compila- 
tion of  laws  proper  to  each  must  be  framed,  where- 
by the  laws  and  privileges  of  each  province  may 
be  distinguished  from  those  of  every  other.  But 
since  such  provincial  statutes  and  customs  are  gen- 
erally limited  to  certain  topics,  and  contain  no  uni- 
versal or  complete  rules  of  law  ;  and  since  the 
Corpus  Juris  of  the  Emperor  Justinian  has  for 
many  centuries  been  used  as  the  subsidiary  code 
of  almost  all  European  states,  and  has  been  so  re- 
ceived among  us,  it  cannot  be  left  out  of  account 
in  the  measures  now  projected.  It  is,  however, 
well  known  that  this  Roman  code  is,  for  the  most 
part,  merely  a  collection  of  the  opinions  and  decis- 
ions of  lawyers  in  particular  cases  ;  that  it  chiefly 
refers  to  ancient  Roman  institutions  and  formali- 
ties, now  no  longer  applicable,  and  that  it  contains 
numerous  contradictions.  It  will  be  necessary, 
therefore,  to  abstract  from  it  only  such  parts  as  are 
consistent  with  the  law  of  nature,  and  with  the 
present  form  of  government  and  society  ;  to  reject 
the  useless  ;  to  insert  my  own  national  laws  in  the 
proper  places  ;  and  thus  will  be  produced  a  sub- 
sidiary code  to  which  the  judge  can  recur  in  all 
cases  for  which  the  provincial  law  contains  no  pro- 
vision. 

I  must  here  remark  that,  as  it  appears  to  me,  the 
Roman  legislators,  who  were  not  sparing  in  their 
decisions  on  contested  questions  of  law,  did  not 


106 

sufficiently  keep  in  view  whatever  might  serve  to 
obviate  doubts  in  legal  cases,  and  to  prevent  suits. 

It  is,  for  instance,  well  known  what  an  infinite 
number  of  suits  concerning  transactions  and  con- 
tracts relating  to  immovables,  (real  property,)  arise 
out  of  the  haste  with  which  people  conclude  them, 
and  the  want  of  distinctness  and  precision  in  their 
expressions.  Such  suits  would  be  entirely  avoided, 
if  all  contracts  relating  to  immovables  were  made 
in  the  presence  of  the  judge,  whose  business  it 
would  be  to  see  that  neither  party  overreached  the 
other,  or  took  unfair  advantages  :  the  contract  it- 
self, for  the  greater  authentication  of  its  contents, 
should  be  signed  by  the  judge.  For  as  law-suits 
must  ever  be  reckoned  among  the  evils  of  society, 
—  as  subtracting  from  the  well-being  of  the  citi- 
zens,—  that  is  incontestably  the  best  law  which 
contains  within  itself  the  prevention  of  litigation. 

If,  which  is  not  to  be  doubted,  I  attain  my  end 
in  the  amelioration  of  the  laws  and  the  procedure, 
it  is  clear  that  a  vast  many  lawyers  will  lose  the 
consideration  and  authority  which  they  derive  from 
the  mystery  in  which  it  is  now  involved,  by  the 
simplification  of  their  business  ;  their  subtilty-shop 
will  be  ruined,  and  the  whole  corps  of  advocates  of 
the  old  school  be  rendered  useless.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  shall  free  my  faithful  subjects  from 
no  light  burden,  and  may  therefore  expect  to  have 
more  skilful  and  industrious  merchants,  manufac- 


107 


turers,  and  artisans,  from  whom  the  state  will  re- 
ceive much  better  and  more  useful  service. 

Now,  as  the  execution  of  such  a  project  is  not 
the  work  of  a  single  man,  you  must  seek  out  the 
ablest  and  honestest  men  whom  you  can  possibly 
find  ;  divide  the  several  sorts  of  labor  among  them; 
form  them  into  a  commission,  and  make  all  your 
regulations  after  common  deliberation  and  agree- 
ment. Similar  law  commissions  must  in  future  sit 
permanently,  in  order  that  all  defects,  ambiguities, 
or  vices  of  the  laws  may,  as  they  present  them- 
selves, be  supplied,  interpreted,  or  corrected  in  a 
fundamental  manner. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  will  not  allow  that  any 
judges,  courts  of  justice,  or  ministers  of  state  what- 
soever, take  upon  themselves  to  stretch  or  contract 
the  laws,  much  less  to  make  new  ones  ;  but  if,  in 
course  of  time,  doubts  or  deficiencies  in  the  laws 
or  the  procedure  arise,  notice  of  the  same  must  be 
given  to  the  appropriate  law  commission  ;  the  case, 
having  regard  to  the  signification  and  intention  of 
the  existing  laws,  must  then  be  laid  before  you  to 
be  fully  weighed,  and  if  a  positive  change  or  addi- 
tion be  found  necessary,  a  well-considered  report 
must  be  presented  to  me. 

I  leave  it  to  you  then,  to  think  further  on  the 
matter,  and  to  devise  the  means  requisite  for  its 
execution  ;  and  in  return  I  promise  to  protect  you 


108 


most  vigorously  against  all  cabals  and  all  opposi- 
tion, as  your  well-affectioned  king, 

Frederic. 

Potsdam,  April  14,  1730. 
To  the  Grand  Chancellor  von  Carmer. 


FINNISH  LEGEND. 

There  was  once  a  giantess  who  had  a  daughter, 
and  the  child  saw  a  husbandman  ploughing  in  the 
field.  Then  she  ran  and  picked  him  up  with  her 
finger  and  thumb,  and  put  him  and  his  plough  and 
his  oxen  into  her  apron,  and  carried  them  to  her 
mother  and  said,  "  Mother,  what  sort  of  a  beetle  is 
this,  that  I  found  wriggling  in  the  ground  ?  "  But 
the  mother  said,  "Put  it  away,  my  child,  we  must 
be  gone  out  of  this  land,  for  these  people  will  dwell 
in  it." 

[The  giant  race  was  doomed  to  retire  before  the  tiller  of  the 
ground.  Agriculture  was  odious  to  them  as  well  as  to  the  dwarfs. 
The  rude  innocence  of  the  giant  child,  to  whom  man  appeared  a 
tiny  insect,  a  beetle  grovelling  in  the  earth,  and  the  secret  alarm 
which  this  small  being  struck  into  the  mother,  cannot  be  more 
happily  depicted  than  in  these  few  touches,] 

Grimm.   (Deutsche  Mytkologie.) 


Florence,  September  4, 1816. 
I  have  seen  a  great  many  works  of  art.  My 
preference  for  the  old  masters  down  to  the  time  of 
Rafael,  is  strongly  confirmed.    Giovanni  Bellini, 


109 

who  was  my  favorite  eight  years  ago,  became  so 
once  more  at  Venice.  And  at  Bologna  we  saw 
works  of  Francia's  which  amazed  us.  Masaccio, 
Mantegna,  Vivarini,  and  Carpaccio  can  only  be 
known  in  Italy.  I  have  already  seen  innumerable 
things  by  Giotto,  and  I  now  perfectly  understand 
the  history  of  Italian  art.  What  I  saw  in  Nurem- 
berg and  Munich  threw  great  light  on  what  I  have 
seen  here.  In  the  fourteenth  century,  Giotto  form- 
ed himself  after  the  antique  ;  then  again  his  school 
took  another  direction.  Masaccio  soars  at  once  to 
the  higher  regions.  Then  art  sinks  again,  and 
during  the  first  sixty  years  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
the  Germans  are  far  superior  to  the  Italians.  Then 
the  other  scale  rises.  After  the  time  of  Rafael  and 
Diirer,  the  spirit  is  extinct  on  both  sides  the  Alps  ; 
—  the  only  difference  is,  that  in  Italy,  art  (that  is, 
technical  art)  survived.  In  architecture  the  Ital- 
ians of  the  middle  ages  are  not  to  be  compared  to 
the  Germans.    In  sculpture  they  surpass  them. 

B,  G.  Niebuhr.  (Lebensnachrichten.) 


His  portfolio  contained,  indeed,  scarcely  any- 
thing but  outlines,  but,  as  they  were  traced  through 
on  the  pictures  themselves,  they  had  perfectly  pre- 
served their  antique  character  ;  and  how  touching 
was  that  !  On  every  figure  and  countenance  rest- 
ed the  spirit  of  simple,  calm  existence.    It  was  im- 


110 


possible  not  to  feel  certain  that  all,  if  not  great  and 
noble,  were  gentle  and  good.  A  cheerful  spirit  of 
union,  a  willing  acknowledgment  of  an  object  of 
reverence  above  us,  a  calm  surrender  of  the  soul 
to  love  and  faith,  sat  on  every  face  and  breathed  in 
every  gesture.  The  old  bald-headed  man,  the  rich- 
locked  boy,  the  high-spirited  youth,  the  sedate  and 
earnest  man,  the  glorified  saint,  the  hovering  an- 
gel, all  appeared  blessed  in  innocent  contentment, 
in  pious  acquiescence.  The  homliest  figure  bore 
traces  of  a  heavenly  life,  and  the  service  and  wor- 
ship of  God  seemed  the  occupation  fitted  to  every 
nature. 

Goethe.  ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 


Darwin  remarks  that  we  are  less  dazzled  by  the 
light  at  waking,  if  we  have  been  dreaming  of  visi- 
ble objects.  Happy  are  those  who  have  here 
dreamt  of  a  higher  vision  !  They  will  the  sooner 
be  able  to  endure  the  glories  of  the  world  to  come. 

Novalis. 


There  are  so  many  tender  and  holy  emotions 
flying  about  in  our  inward  world,  which,  like  an- 
gels, can  never  assume  the  body  of  an  outward 
act  ;  so  many  rich  and  lovely  flowers  spring  up 
which  bear  no  seed,  that  it  is  a  happiness  poetry 


Ill 


was  invented,  which  receives  into  its  limbus  all 
these  incorporeal  spirits,  and  the  perfume  of  all 
these  flowers. 

Jean  Paul. 


DINNER,  A  DRAMATIC  POEM. 

The  party  passed  through  the  large  folding- 
doors  into  the  dining-room,  which  looked  imme- 
diately on  the  garden.  Before  them  lay  the  op- 
posite hills,  with  their  thickets  of  varied  green, 
and  beautiful  clumps  of  wood  ;  in  the  foreground 
was  the  lawn,  belted  and  perfumed  round  with  beds 
of  the  loveliest  flowers,  while  like  the  crystal  coro- 
net of  the  green  plain,  a  fountain  sparkled  and 
gushed  in  the  middle,  and  invited  equally  to  silence 
or  to  conversation  by  its  sweet  and  silvery  tones. 

All  seated  themselves  at  table.  Flowers  of  all 
hues  arranged  in  beautiful  vases,  and  fresh,  ruddy 
cherries  in  pretty  baskets,  sparkled  over  the  snowy 
linen.  "Why  is  it,"  said  Emilia,  after  a  pause 
of  some  minutes,  "that  every  dinner  party  be- 
gins in  silence  ?  People  are  thoughtful,  and  look 
down  ;  nobody  even  expects  an  animated  conver- 
sation ;  for  it  seems  that  the  soup  brings  with  it  a 
certain  serious  and  tranquil  tone  of  feeling,  which 
usually  contrasts  strongly  with  the  conclusion  of 
the  dinner  and  the  dessert." 

"  The  hunger  which  is  generally  excited  by  the 
proximity  of  eatables,  will  explain  a  good  deal," 


112 


said  Wilibald,  "  especially  when  dinner  is  served 
at  a  later  hour  than  was  fixed." 

#  #  #  #  # 

"  To  return  to  the  soup,  which  we  have  now 
despatched,"  said  Lothair  ;  "  I  do  not  think  the 
taciturnity  which  accompanies  it  depends  so  much 
on  our  material  wants.  It  seems  to  me  that  every 
meal  or  feast  is  a  drama, — when  at  its  best,  a 
Shaksperian  comedy, — and  has  its  rules  and  ne- 
cessities, by  which  it  is  in  most  cases  unconscious- 
ly governed." 

"How  can  any  reasonable  man  think  other- 
wise ?"  said  Wilibald,  laughing.  "How  often  is 
the  comic  poet  unconsciously  the  richest  subject 
for  comedy  !  " 

"Let  him  speak,"  said  Manfred;  "you  may 
afterwards  compare  a  dinner  to  a  battle,  or  to  the 
history  of  the  world,  if  you  will.  At  table,  there 
ought  to  be  the  most  unqualified  freedom  of  thought 
and  eating." 

"That  the  changing  courses  and  dishes  may 
most  aptly  be  compared  to  acts  and  scenes,"  con- 
tinued Lothair,  "must  strike  everybody  ;  nor  is  it 
less  obvious  to  the  reflecting  and  refined  eater,  (I 
ignore  those  lower  natures  who  doubt  of  every 
thing  they  cannot  understand,  and  in  their  gross 
and  material  stupidity  adhere  to  the  belief  that 
eating  is  nothing  more  than  an  expedient  for  al- 
laying hunger,)  that  a  certain  pervading  sentiment 


113 


should  be  expressed,  with  which  nothing  in  the 
whole  composition  of  the  table  should  be  incon- 
gruous or  discordant,  —  whether  it  be  the  dishes, 
the  wines,  or  the  conversation.  For  out  of  all 
these  parts  should  arise  a  romantic  composition, 
which  should  at  once  amuse,  satisfy,  and  delight  ; 
free  from  all  vehement  excitement  of  the  curiosity 
or  the  sympathy,  from  all  illusion,  and  from  all 
bitter  recollections.  Epigrammatic  dishes,  for  in- 
stance, which  have  frequently  been  employed  to 
cheat  and  delude,  are  to  be  condemned  as  repug- 
nant to  all  good  taste." 

"In  the  north  of  Germany,"  said  Ernest,  "I 
once  saw  a  sweetmeat  representing  a  heap  of  turf, 
which  appeared  to  give  extreme  delight  to  the 
guests." 

Ct  I  have  read  in  Vasari  of  most  romantic  feasts," 
said  Clara,  "given  by  the  Florentine  painters  to 
one  another.  They  would  have  only  terrified  me, 
for  they  pushed  these  strange  distortions  of  fancy  to 
the  very  utmost.  Not  did  only  they  construct  and 
demolish  palaces  and  temples  of  various  meats,  but 
even  hell,  with  all  its  awful  shades,  was  pressed 
into  the  service  of  their  poetical  extravagance. 
Toads  and  serpents  enclosed  the  choicest  dainties, 
and  the  dessert  consisted  of  ghosts  and  skeletons  in 
confectionary." 

"I  should  have  liked  much  to  be  present  at 
these  wild,  fantastic  entertainments,"  said  Man- 


114 


fred.  "  I  never  could  read  the  description  of  them 
without  the  greatest  pleasure.  Why  should  not 
fear,  horror,  surprise,  be  brought  into  action  in 
our  most  immediate  and  every-day  life  ?  All,  even 
the  strangest  and  the  wildest,  has  its  time." 

"But,  dear  Lothair,"  said  Theodore,  "go  on 
with  your  comparison  of  a  dinner  with  a  drama." 

"To  satisfy  your  curiosity,"  replied  Lothair, 
"  I  must  begin  by  pointing  out  how  weighty  a  part 
of  a  play  is  the  introduction.  This  may  be  con- 
ceived in  three  different  and  principal  ways  :  either, 
that  the  situation  of  affairs  be  made  known  in  the 
simplest  and  most  natural  manner,  by  means  of  a 
calm  narration,  as  in  'The  Comedy  of  Errors  '  ; 
or  that  the  poet  plunge  us  into  tumult  and  con- 
fusion, out  of  which  light  and  distinctness  are 
gradually  evolved,  as  in  '  Romeo  and  Juliet,'  which 
begins  with  broils  ;  or,  thirdly,  that  he  lead  us  at 
once  into  the  midst  of  the  action,  but  with  calm- 
ness and  deliberation,  as  in  'Twelfth  Night.'  It  is 
unquestionable  that  the  last  method  is  to  be  pre- 
ferred for  a  dinner  ;  and  that  therefore  all  civilized 
nations,  and  people  who  do  not  strive  to  live  and 
to  eat  after  a  strange  and  fantastic  manner,  open 
their  repast  with  a  strong,  but  mild,  calmly-digested 
soup.  As  all  men  have  an  innate  propensity  to 
the  drama,  and  the  perception  that  all  is  drama 
sleeps  darkly  within  them,  they  take  care,  with 


115 

reason,  not  to  be  too  witty,  too  clever,  or  tco 
talkative,  as  long  as  the  soup  is  before  th  m.  ' 

Emilia  laughed  and  nodded  assent,  and  Lothair 
continued.  "As,  in  the  last-mentioned  comedy, 
after  the  almost  elegiac  intioduction,  those  pleas- 
ant personages  Sir  Toby,  Maria,  and  Sir  Andrew 
Aguecheek  enter  as  a  gay  and  stimulating  episode  ; 
so,  the  solid  viands  are  preceded  by  anchovies, 
caviar,  or  something  highly  flavored,  which  does 
not  immediately  allay  hunger.  And  thus,  not  to 
be  to  diffuse,  satisfaction  and  excitement  succeed 
each  other  in  agreeable  alternations  up  to  the  time 
of  the  dessert,  which  must  be  entirely  humorous, 
poetical,  and  unrestrained  ;  as  the  comedy  in  ques- 
tion closes  with  that  most  delightfully  childish, 
but  significant  song  of  the  mos  delightful  of  all 
fools  ;  —  or,  as  'Much  Ado  About  Nothing,'  and 
'As  You  Like  It,'  end  with  a  dance,  or  'The 
Winter's  Tale  '  with  the  living  statue." 

"I  see  clearly,"  said  Clara,  "that  we  ought  to 
learn  eating  at  school,  just  as  much  as  any  other 
science." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Lothair  ;  "nothing  is  so  un- 
becoming an  accomplished  man  as  to  eat  in  an 
injudicious,  unscientific  and  tasteless  manner  ;  for 
as  food  is  a  want  of  our  nature,  either  the  utmost 
simplicity  should  reign  at  our  meals,  or  elegance 
and  mirth  should  enter  into  them,  and  diffuse  ease 
and  cheerfulness." 


116 

"In  truth,"  said  Ernest,  "nothing  troubles  one's 
enjoyment  so  much  as  a  vacillating  mixture  of  fru- 
gality and  unpleasurable  profusion  ;  —  as  some- 
times one  is  inundated  with  excellent  wine  to  wash 
down  meagre  and  ill-cooked  viands,  —  or  con- 
demned to  gulp  down  wretched  wine  with  exces- 
sively dainty  high-flavored  dishes,  served  on  splen- 
did china.  These  are  the  true  tragi-comedies, 
such  as  every  well-regulated,  accurate  mind,  which 
aims  at  harmony  and  consistency,  will  utterly  con- 
demn and  eschew." 

"Under  the  same  class,"  said  Antony,  "may 
be  ranged  immoderate  drinking  from  ambition  ;  or 
when  some  host,  with  all  the  animation  of  semi- 
drunkenness,  forcibly  obliges  you  to  drink,  as- 
suring you  with  ever-increasing  loudness  and  ve- 
hemence, that  the  wine  deserves  to  be  drunk,  — 
that  this  cost  so  much  a  bottle,  and  this  so  much, 
but  that  he  does  not  grudge  it  to  good  friends,  and 
that  he  can  stand  it,  if  they  should  drink  twice  as 
much.  Such  a  man,  in  his  pride  of  purse,  does 
not  only  reckon  the  cost  of  the  feast,  and  the  con- 
sumption of  each  guest,  but  he  has  no  rest  till  you 
know  the  price  of  every  table  and  chair  in  his 
house.  If  he  happen  to  possess  any  works  of  art, 
or  curiosities,  he  is  wholly  intolerable.  His  high- 
est enjoyment  is,  in  all  friendliness,  to  make  his 
guests  feel  that  compared  to  him  they  are  poor 
and  bankrupt.'" 


117 


"  It  must  also  be  observed,"  continued  Lothair, 
"that  as  there  ought  to  be  a  certain  keeping  and 
harmony  between  the  viands  and  the  vessels  in 
which  they  are  served,  so  the  former  must  not  be 
neglected  or  injured  by  an  over-proportion  of  con- 
versation. The  introductory  soup  should,  as  has 
already  been  said,  be  accompanied  by  quiet  union 
and  attention  ;  after  this,  a  little  gentle  politics,  or 
short  anecdotes,  or  light  philosophical  remarks, 
are  allowable  ;  if  a  company  is  not  very  sure  of  its 
wit  and  facetiousness,  let  it  not  expend  them  too 
early,  for  at  the  entrance  of  the  sweets  and  fruits 
and  fine  wines,  all  seriousness  must  utterly  vanish  : 
that  which  a  quarter  of  an  hour  sooner  was  un- 
seemly and  irregular,  is  now  perfectly  admissible  ; 
even  ladies  take  courage  to  laugh  out  ;  love  re- 
veals itself  more  undisguisedly  ;  jealousy  betrays 
itself  by  more  open  sallies,  —  everybody  throws 
himself  off  his  guard,  and  does  not  shrink  from  ex- 
posing himself  to  the  hitting  jokes  of  his  friend  ; 
even  some  pungent  and  rather  severe  stories  may 
now  circulate.  Great  lords  formerly  had  their 
fools  and  jesters  enter  with  the  sweetmeats,  that  at 
the  close  of  their  meal  they  might  feel  themselves 
men,  — gay,  merry,  and  unconstrained." 

"  Now,"  said  Theodore,  "that  is  the  time  se- 
lected for  bringing  in  all  the  little  children  ;  if, 
indeed,  they  have  not  been  seated,  rank  and  file, 
at  table." 

9 


118 


"  Yes,"  said  Manfred,  "  and  the  conversation 
rises  to  the  affecting,  on  the  high  ideal  virtues  of 
the  sweet  little  creatures  and  their  unutterable  love 
for  their  parents,  and  that  of  the  parents  for  them." 

"  And  when  it  takes  a  very  lofty  flight,"  said 
Theodore,  "tears  are  shed,  as  the  last  and  most 
precious  liquor  which  is  to  be  produced  ;  and  thus 
the  dinner  closes  amidst  the  deepest  commotion  of 
heart." 

"  It  is  not  enough,"  resumed  Lothair,  "  that  we 
avoid  such  absurdity  and  ill-breeding  ;  every  din- 
ner-conversation should  be  a  work  of  art,  a  suitable 
accompaniment  to  the  meal,  adapted  to  it  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  thorough  bass.  I  do  not  make 
any  mention  of  those  frightfully  large  parties  which 
are  now,  alas  !  become  almost  an  universal  fashion 
in  our  country  ;  where  acquaintances  and  stran- 
gers, friends  and  foes,  men  of  talent  and  fools, 
young  girls  and  old  dowagers,  are  seated  at  ran- 
dom at  a  long  table  :  those  dinners  for  which  the 
hostess  has  thought  and  bustled,  and  of  which  she 
has  dreamt,  for  a  week  ;  where  she  has  arranged 
every  thing  with  great  splendor,  and  still  greater 
bad  taste,  only  that  she  may  at  length  be  quit  of  an 
entertainment  long  expected  from  her,  in  return  for 
the  dozen  or  more  similar  feasts  which  she  has  un- 
dergone. In  addition  to  these  legal  claimants,  she 
invites  everybody  to  whom  she  thinks  she  owes 
any  civility,  and  eagerly  catches  about  a  dozen 


119 


travellers  in  her  net,  that  she  may  remain  dis- 
charged of  all  after-claims  to  hospitality  from  them. 
No  !  I  do  not  allude  to  those  tables  at  which  no 
one  speaks,  or  all  talk  at  once  ;  at  which  chaos 
reigns,  and  only  in  few  and  rare  moments  some 
solitary,  private  pleasantry  can  struggle  into  being; 
where  every  conversation  comes  into  the  world 
still-born,  or  must  expire  in  a  moment,  like  a  fish 
on  dry  land  ;  those  feasts  at  which  the  host  must 
set  himself  on  the  rack  in  order  to  play  the  host 
well,  to  watch  every  part  of  the  table,  to  drink 
wine  with  everybody,  and  to  whisper  frosty  jests 
into  the  ears  of  silly,  simpering  ladies; — let  us 
pass  over  in  silence  these  barbarisms  of  our  times, 
this  death  of  all  social  pleasure  and  of  all  hospital- 
ity, which,  like  so  many  other  barbarous  customs, 
has  been  imported  and  found  a  place  amongst  us." 

"The  sickly  caricature  of  these  great  entertain- 
ments," added  Wilibald,  "  are  the  still  larger  tea- 
parties  and  cold  suppers,  in  which  the  pleasure  is 
heightened  by  the  universal  bustle  and  uproar  ;  — 
where,  in  the  general  confusion  of  tongues,  ser- 
vants, called  and  uncalled,  balancing  trays  of  all 
possible  refreshments,  dance  in  between  the  talk- 
ers ;  each  sweeps  with  his  load  through  every 
room,  to  seek  he  knows  not  what  ;  and  a  lover  of 
order  is  fain  to  take  up  a  position  by  the  stove  or 
the  window,  to  escape  being  run  down  in  the  uni- 


120 


versal  flight,  or  seized  and  carried  along  in  the 
stream  of  some  migratory  horde." 

"  This,"  said  Manfred,  "  is  the  true  high  style 
of  our  social  life  ;  Michael  Angelo's  Last  Judg- 
ment to  the  miniature  picture  of  old  hospitality  and 
intimate  friendship  ;  the  final  decree  of  art,  the 
end  of  the  imagination,  the  fulfilment  of  time,  of 
which  all  the  prophets  have  spoken." 

Tieck.  (Phantasus.) 


Duclos  remarks  that  few  distinguished  works 
have  been  produced  by  any  but  authors  by  profes- 
sion. In  France,  this  class  has  long  been  held  in 
respect.  With  us  a  man  used  to  be  esteemed  as 
less  than  nothing  if  he  were  only  an  author.  This 
prejudice  still  shows  itself  here  and  there,  but  the 
force  of  honored  examples  must  in  time  crush  it. 
Authorship  is,  according  to  the  spirit  in  which  it  is 
pursued,  an  infamy,  a  pastime,  a  day-labor,  a 
handicraft,  an  art,  a  science,  a  virtue. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


As  to  the  manner  in  which  history  should  be 
studied,  the  following  observations  may  suffice. 

It  must,  as  a  whole,  be  regarded  in  the  light  of 
an  epos,  which  has  no  definite  beginning  nor  end. 
The  student  must  select  that  point  which  he  re- 


121 


gards  as  the  most  important  or  the  most  interest- 
ing, and  taking  his  stand  on  that,  must  continue  to 
build  and  to  extend  in  every  direction. 

He  must  avoid  those  so-called  universal  histo- 
ries, which  teach  nothing  ;  at  present  there  are  no 
others.  A  true  universal  history  must  be  conceiv- 
ed in  the  epic  style,  —  that  is,  in  the  spirit  percep- 
tible in  Herodotus.  What  are  now  so  called  are 
compendiums,  from  which  every  thing  extraordina- 
ry or  important  is  effaced  :  let  even  the  reader 
who  does  not  mean  to  addict  himself  to  history  as 
his  peculiar  department,  recur  as  much  as  possible 
to  original  sources  and  particular  histories,  which 
will  afford  him  far  more  instruction.  For  modern 
history,  let  him  learn  to  relish  the  naive  simplicity 
of  chronicles,  which  make  no  pretension  to  elabo- 
rate delineations  of  character,  nor  to  a  psychologi- 
cal analysis  of  motives. 

He  who  wishes  to  cultivate  and  pursue  history 
as  an  art,  must  adhere  exclusively  to  the  ancients, 
who,  since  the  decline  of  that  community  and  pub- 
licity which  distinguished  the  life  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  can  never  again  be  equalled.  Putting  aside 
Gibbon,  whose  work  has  the  advantage  of  a  vast 
range  of  subject,  and  of  the  whole  force  of  the 
transition  from  ancient  to  modern  civilization,  (al- 
though even  he  is  a  rhetor  and  not  a  historian,) 
there  exist  only  national  historians  ;  and  among 
these  posterity  will  mention  none  but  Machiavelli 


122 


and  Johannes  v.  Miiller.  The  letters  of  the  latter, 
written  when  a  young  man,  will  partly  enable  the 
aspirant  after  eminence  in  this  high  walk  of  litera- 
ture to  calculate  the  steps  he  has  to  climb.  It  may 
be  generally  affirmed,  that  all  that  science  and  art, 
—  all  that  a  life  rich  in  experience  and  versed  in 
public  affairs  can  give,  —  must  combine  to  form 
the  historian. 

The  first  archetypes  of  the  historical  style  are 
the  epos  in  its  primitive  form,  and  the  tragedy  :  for 
if  universal  history,  — whose  rise,  like  the  sources 
of  the  Nile,  baffles  discovery, — loves  the  epic 
form  and  fulness,  particular  history,  on  the  other 
hand,  requires  to  be  arranged  concentrically  around 
one  common  point  ;  not  to  mention  that,  for  the 
historian,  tragedy  is  the  true  source  of  those  grand 
conceptions  and  of  that  elevated  mode  of  thinking 
to  which  he  ought  to  form  himself. 

Schelling. 

(  Vorlesungen  titer  die  3IetJiode  des  academischen  Studiums.) 


There  are  two  ways  of  writing  history,  one  for 
the  learned,  the  other  for  the  unlearned.  In  the 
first  case,  the  writer  assumes  that  the  reader  is 
thoroughly  conversant  with  the  particular  facts. 
His  sole  purpose  is  by  apt  suggestions  and  in- 
structive comparisons  to  remind  the  reader  of  what 
he  already  knows,  and  thus,  in  the  place  of  his  own 


123 


desultory  knowledge  of  facts,  to  present  him  with 
a  grand  whole,  or  at  least  to  impress  it  more  vivid- 
ly on  his  mind. 

In  the  other  case,  the  writer,  even  while  adher- 
ing to  the  same  unity  of  design,  is  compelled  to 
narrate  all  the  particular  facts. 

Goethe.  (Recensionen.) 


The  writer,  or  even  the  student,  of  history, 
ought  if  possible,  to  know  all  nations  in  their  now 
tongue.  Languages  have  one  inscrutable  ori- 
gin, —  as  have  all  national  peculiarities,  —  and  he 
has  but  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  a  people  who 
does  not  know  their  language. 

B.  G.  Niebuhr.  {Lebensnachrichten.) 


I  hate  all  people  who  want  to  found  sects.  It 
is  not  error,  but  sectarian  error,  —  nay,  and  even 
sectarian  truth,  —  which  causes  the  happiness  of 
mankind. 

Lessing. 


Love  one  human  being  purely  and  warmly,  and 
you  will  love  all.  The  heart  in  this  heaven,  like 
the  wandering  sun,  sees  nothing,  from  the  dewdrop 
to  the  ocean,  but  a  mirror  which  it  warms  and  fills. 

Jean  Paul. 


124 

THE  DROWNED  CHILD. 

 She  sprang  into  the  boat,  grasped  the  oar, 

and  pushed  off.  The  boat  did  not  move  ;  she  was 
compelled  to  use  all  her  strength,  and  to  repeat 
the  effort.  The  boat  rocked,  and  floated  a  little 
from  the  shore.  On  her  left  arm  was  the  child,  in 
her  left  hand  the  book,  in  her  right  the  oar  ;  — 
she  tottered  with  the  motion  and  fell.  The  oar 
dragged  her  towards  one  side  of  the  boat,  and,  as 
she  tried  to  recover  herself,  the  child  and  the  book 
towards  the  other  ;  they  fell  into  the  water. 

She  grasped  the  child's  clothes,  but  her  own 
position  rendered  it  impossible  for  her  to  rise. 
Her  right  hand,  now  disengaged,  was  not  suf- 
ficient to  enable  her  to  turn  or  to  stand  up  ;  at 
length  she  accomplished  it  ;  she  drew  the  child 
out  of  the  water,  but  his  eyes  were  closed,  —  he 
had  ceased  to  breathe. 

At  this  moment  her  whole  recollection  returned, 
but  the  greater  was  her  anguish.  The  boat  had 
drifted  almost  into  the  middle  of  the  lake,  the  oar 
had  floated  far  away,  she  saw  no  one  on  the 
shore,  —  and  what  would  it  have  availed  her  if  she 
had  ?  Cut  off  from  every  thing,  she  floated  on 
the  faithless,  pathless  element. 

She  sought  help  from  herself.  She  had  often  heard 
the  means  described  of  restoring  those  apparently 
drowned,  and  had  even  witnessed  their  efficacy. 


125 


She  stripped  the  child,  and  dried  it  with  her  mus- 
lin robe.  She  tore  open  her  bosom,  and  for  the 
first  time  laid  it  bare  to  the  heavens  ;  for  the  first 
time  she  pressed  a  living  creature  to  her  pure, 
naked  breast.    Alas  !  it  was  not  living  ! 

The  cold  limbs  of  the  unhappy  babe  struck  a 
chill  to  her  inmost  heart.  Streams  of  tears  gushed 
from  her  eyes,  and  gave  to  the  surface  of  the  life- 
less body  an  appearance  of  warmth  and  life.  She 
would  not  give  over.  She  wrapped  it  round  and 
round  in  her  shawl  ;  she  chafed,  pressed  and 
breathed  on  it,  and  thus,  and  by  tears  and  kisses, 
she  felt  as  if  she  in  some  measure  compensated 
for  the  want  of  those  succors  which,  in  her  deso- 
late situation,  were  denied  her. 

All  in  vain  !  Motionless  lay  the  child  upon  her 
arm, — motionless  lay  the  boat  on  the  surface  of 
the  water.  But  even  now  her  sweet  spirit  left  her 
not  utterly  helpless.  She  turned  to  the  Helper 
above.  She  sank  on  her  knees  in  the  boat,  and 
raised  the  lifeless  babe  with  both  arms  across  her 
innocent  breast,  —  as  white,  and,  alas  !  as  cold, 
as  marble.  With  tearful  eyes  she  looked  upward, 
and  called  for  help  from  thence,  where  a  tender 
heart  hopes  to  find  it  in  the  greatest  abundance 
when  its  need  is  the  greatest. 

And  not  in  vain  did  she  turn  to  the  heavens, 
whence  already  the  stars  began  to  look  forth.  A 


126 


soft  breeze  arose,  and  wafted  the  boat  close  to  the 
landing-place  at  the  plane  trees. 

Goethe.   ( Wahlverwandlschaften.) 


Concerning  nothing  do  we  come  to  more  false 
conclusions  and  make  more  false  steps,  than  con- 
cerning woman's  cheerfulness.  Ah  !  how  many 
of  these  affectionate  creatures  are  there  who  pine 
unknown,  despond  smiling,  and  wither  jesting  ; 
who  with  bright,  joyous  eyes,  flee  into  a  corner, 
as  if  behind  a  fan,  that  there  they  may  right  gladly 
break  out  into  the  tears  which  oppressed  them  ; 
who  pay  for  the  day  of  smiles  by  a  night  of  tears, 
— just  as  an  unusually  transparent,  clear,  and 
mistless  day  surely  foretells  rain ! 

Jean  Paul.  (Campaner-Thal.) 


LETTER  FROM  AN  OLD  MARRIED  WOMAN  TO  A 
SENSITIVE  YOUNG  LADY. 

You  do  your  husband  injustice,  dear  child,  if 
you  think  he  loves  you  less  than  formerly.  He  is 
a  man  of  an  ardent,  active  temper,  who  loves  la- 
bor and  exertion,  and  finds  his  pleasure  in  them  ; 
and  as  long  as  his  love  for  you  furnished  him  with 
labor  and  exertion  he  was  completely  absorbed  in 
it.    But  this  has,  of  course,  ceased  ;  your  recipro- 


127 


cal  position,  —  but  by  no  means  his  love,  as  you 
imagine,  —  has  changed. 

A  love  which  seeks  to  conquer,  and  a  love  which 
has  conquered,  are  two  totally  different  passions. 
The  one  puts  on  the  stretch  all  the  virtues  of  the 
hero  ;  it  excites  in  him  fear,  hope,  desire  ;  it  leads 
him  from  triumph  to  triumph,  and  makes  him  think 
every  foot  of  ground  that  he  gains,  a  kingdom. 
Hence  it  keeps  alive  and  fosters  all  the  active 
powers  of  the  man  who  abandons  himself  to  it. 
The  happy  husband  cannot  appear  like  the  lover  ; 
he  has  not  like  him  to  fear,  to  hope,  and  to  desire  ; 
he  has  no  longer  that  charming  toil,  with  all  its 
triumphs,  which  he  had  before,  nor  can  that  which 
he  has  already  won  be  again  a  conquest. 

You  have  only,  my  dear  child,  to  attend  to  this 
most  natural  and  inevitable  difference,  and  you  will 
see  in  the  whole  conduct  of  your  husband,  who 
now  finds  more  pleasure  in  business  than  in  your 
smiles,  nothing  to  offend  you.  You  wish,  —  do 
you  not  ?  —  that  he  would  still  sit  with  you  alone 
on  the  mossy  bank  in  front  of  the  grotto,  as  he 
used  to  do,  look  in  your  blue  eyes,  and  kneel  to 
kiss  your  pretty  hand.  You  wish  that  he  would 
paint  to  you  in  livelier  colors  than  ever  those  de- 
lights of  love  which  lovers  know*  how  to  describe 
with  so  much  art  and  passion  ;  that  he  would  lead 
your  imagination  from  one  rapture  to  another.  My 
wishes,  at  least  for  the  first  year  after  I  married 


128 

my  husband,  went  to  nothing  short  of  this.  But  it 
will  not  do; — the  best  husband  is  also  the  most 
useful  and  active  member  of  society  ;  and  when 
love  no  longer  demands  toil  and  trouble, — when 
every  triumph  is  a  mere  repetition  of  the  last, — 
when  success  has  lost  something  of  its  value  along 
with  its  novelty,  —  the  taste  for  activity  no  longer 
finds  its  appropriate  food,  and  turns  to  fresh  objects 
of  pursuit.  The  necessity  for  occupation  and  for 
progress  is  of  the  very  essence  of  our  souls  ;  and 
if  our  husbands  are  guided  by  reason  in  the  choice 
of  occupation,  we  ought  not  to  pout  because  they 
do  not  sit  with  us  so  often  as  formerly  by  the  sil- 
ver brook  or  under  the  beech  tree.  At  first  I  too 
found  it  hard  to  endure  the  change.  But  my  hus- 
band talked  to  me  about  it  with  perfect  frankness 
and  sincerity.  "The  joy  with  which  you  receive 
me,"  said  he,  "does  not  conceal  your  vexation, 
and  your  saddened  eye  tries  in  vain  to  assume  a 
cheerful  look  ;  I  see  what  you  want,  —  that  I 
would  sit  as  I  used  to  do  on  the  mossy  bank,  hang 
on  all  your  steps,  and  live  on  your  breath  ;  but 
this  is  impossible.  I  would  bring  you  down  from 
the  top  of  the  church  steeple  on  a  rope  ladder,  at 
the  peril  of  my  life,  if  I  could  obtain  you  in  no  other 
way  ;  but  now,  as  I  have  you  fast  in  my  arms,  as 
all  dangers  are  passed  and  all  obstacles  overcome, 
my  passion  can  no  longer  find  satisfaction  in  that 
way.    What  has  once  been  sacrificed  to  my  self- 


129 


love,  ceases  to  be  a  sacrifice.  The  spirit  of  in- 
vention, discovery,  and  conquest,  inherent  in  man, 
demands  a  new  career.  Before  I  obtained  you  I 
used  all  the  virtues  I  possessed  as  steps  by  which 
to  reach  you  ;  but  now,  as  I  have  you,  I  place  you 
at  the  top  of  them,  and  you  are  the  highest  step 
from  which  I  now  hope  to  ascend  higher." 

Little  as  I  relished  the  notion  of  the  church 
tower,  or  the  honor  of  serving  as  the  highest  step 
under  my  husband's  feet,  time  and  reflection  on 
the  course  of  human  affairs  convinced  me  that  the 
thing  could  not  be  otherwise.  I  therefore  turned 
my  active  mind,  which  would  perhaps  in  time  have 
been  tired  of  the  mossy  bank,  to  the  domestic  busi- 
ness which  came  within  my  department  ;  and  when 
we  had  both  been  busy  and  bustling  in  our  several 
ways,  and  could  tell  each  other  in  the  evening  what 
we  had  been  doing,  he  in  the  fields,  and  I  in  the 
house  or  the  garden,  we  were  often  more  happy 
and  contented  than  the  most  loving  couple  in  the 
world. 

And,  what  is  best  of  all,  this  pleasure  has  not 
left  us  after  thirty  years  of  marriage.  We  talk  with 
as  much  animation  as  ever  of  our  domestic  affairs  ; 
I  have  learned  to  know  all  my  husband's  tastes, 
and  I  relate  to  him  whatever  I  think  likely  to  please 
him  out  of  journals,  whether  political  or  literary  ; 
I  recommend  books  to  him,  and  lay  them  before 
him  ;  I  carry  on  the  correspondence  with  our  mar- 


130 


ried  children,  and  often  delight  him  with  good  news 
of  them  and  our  little  grandchildren.  As  to  his 
accounts,  I  understand  them  as  well  as  he,  and 
make  them  easier  to  him  by  having  mine  of  all  the 
yearly  outlay  which  passes  through  my  hands, 
ready  and  in  order  ;  if  necessary,  I  can  send  in  a 
statement  to  the  treasury  chamber,  and  my  hand 
makes  as  good  a  figure  in  our  cash-book  as  his  ; 
we  are  accustomed  to  the  same  order,  we  know  the 
spirit  of  all  our  affairs  and  duties,  and  we  have  one 
aim  and  one  rule  in  all  our  undertakings. 

This  would  never  have  been  the  case  if  we  had 
played  the  part  of  tender  lovers  after  marriage  as 
well  as  before,  and  had  exhausted  our  energies  in 
asseverations  of  mutual  love.  We  should  perhaps 
have  regarded  each  other  with  ennui,  and  have 
soon  found  the  grotto  too  damp,  the  evening  air  too 
cool,  the  noontide  too  hot,  the  morning  fatiguing. 
We  should  have  longed  for  visitors,  who  when  they 
came  would  not  have  been  amused,  and  would  have 
impatiently  awaited  the  hour  of  departure,  or,  if 
we  went  to  them,  would  have  wished  us  away. 
Spoiled  by  effeminate  trifling,  we  should  have 
wanted  to  continue  to  trifle,  and  to  share  in  pleas- 
ures we  could  not  enjoy  ;  or  have  been  compelled 
to  find  refuge  at  the  card-table,  —  the  last  place  at 
which  the  old  can  figure  with  the  young. 

Do  you  wish  not  to  fall  into  this  state,  my  dear 
child  ?    Follow  my  example,  and  do  not  torment 


J31 

yourself  and  your  excellent  husband  with  unreason- 
able exactions.  Don't  think,  however,  that  I  have 
entirely  renounced  the  pleasure  of  seeing  mine  at 
my  feet.  Opportunities  for  this  present  themselves 
far  more  frequently  to  those  who  do  not  seek,  but 
seem  to  avoid  them,  than  to  those  who  allow  them- 
selves to  be  found  on  the  mossy  bank  at  all  times, 
and  as  often  as  it  pleases  their  lord  and  master. 

I  still  sometimes  sing  to  my  little  grandchildren, 
when  they  come  to  see  me,  a  song  which,  in  the 
days  when  his  love  had  still  to  contend  with  all 
sorts  of  obstacles,  used  to  throw  him  into  raptures  ; 
and  when  the  little  ones  cry,  "Ancora!  ancora  ! 
grandmamma,"  his  eyes-  fill  with  tears  of  joy.  I 
asked  him  once  whether  he  would  not  now  think  it 
too  dangerous  to  bring  me  down  a  rope-ladder  from 
the  top  of  the  church  steeple,  upon  which  he  called 
out  as  vehemently  as  the  children,  "O,  ancora! 
grandmamma,  ancora  ! " 

P.  S.  —  One  thing,  my  dear  child,  I  forgot.  It 
seems  to  me  that  you  trust  too  entirely  to  your 
good  cause  and  your  good  heart,  (perhaps,  too,  a 
little  to  your  blue  eyes,)  and  do  not  deign  to  try  to 
attract  your  husband  anew.  I  fancy  you  are  at 
home,  just  as  you  were  a  week  ago  in  society  at 
our  excellent  G — 's,  where  I  found  you  all  as  stiff 
and  silent  as  if  you  had  met  only  to  tire  each  other 
to  death.  Did  you  not  observe  how  soon  I  set  the 
whole  company  in  motion  ?    This  was  merely  by  a 


132 


few  words  addressed  to  each,  on  the  subject  I 
thought  most  agreeable  or  most  flattering  to  him. 
After  a  time  the  others  began  to  feel  more  happy 
and  at  their  ease,  and  we  parted  in  high  spirits  and 
good  humor. 

What  I  did  there,  I  do  daily  at  home.  I  try  to 
make  myself  and  all  around  me  agreeable.  It  will 
not  do  to  leave  a  man  to  himself  till  he  comes  to 
you,  to  take  no  pains  to  attract  him,  or  to  appear 
before  him  with  a  long  face.  But  it  is  not  so  diffi- 
cult as  you  think,  dear  child,  to  behave  to  a  hus- 
band so  that  he  shall  remain  for  ever  in  some  meas- 
ure a  lover.  I  am  an  old  woman,  but  you  can  still 
do  what  you  like  ;  a  word  from  you  at  the  right 
time  will  not  fail  of  its  effect.  What  need  have  you 
to  play  the  suffering  virtue  ?  The  tear  of  a  loving 
girl,  says  an  old  book,  is  like  a  dewdrop  on  the 
rose  ;  but  that  on  the  cheek  of  a  wife  is  a  drop  of 
poison  to  her  husband.  Try  to  appear  cheerful  and 
contented,  and  your  husband  will  be  so  ;  and  when 
you  have  made  him  happy,  you  will  become  so,  not 
in  appearance,  but  in  reality. 

The  skill  required  is  not  so  great.  Nothing 
flatters  a  man  so  much  as  the  happiness  of  his 
wife  ;  he  is  always  proud  of  himself  as  the  source 
of  it.  As  soon  as  you  are  cheerful,  you  will  be 
lively  and  alert,  and  every  moment  will  afford  you 
an  opportunity  of  letting  fall  an  agreeable  word. 
Your  education,  which  gives  you  an  immense  ad- 


133 

vantage,  will  greatly  assist  you  ;  and  your  sensi- 
bility will  become  the  noblest  gift  that  nature  has 
bestowed  on  you,  when  it  shows  itself  in  affection- 
ate assiduity,  and  stamps  on  every  action  a  soft, 
kind,  and  tender  character,  instead  of  wasting  itself 
in  secret  repinings. 

Justus  Moser.    (Patriotische  Fantasien.) 


The  poet  must  have  the  power  of  bringing 
before  himself  the  thoughts  of  others  ;  likewise 
thoughts  in  every  kind  of  series,  and  in  every 
variety  of  expression. 

Novalis. 


There  are  in  certain  heads  a  kind  of  established 
errors  against  which  reason  has  no  weapons.  There 
are  more  of  these  mere  assertions  current  than  one 
would  believe.  Men  are  very  fond  of  proving 
their  steadfast  adherence  to  nonsense. 

Von  Knebel. 


Innocence  and  ignorance  are  sisters.  But  there 
are  noble  and  vulgar  sisters.  Vulgar  innocence 
and  ignorance  are  mortal,  they  have  pretty  faces, 
but  wholly  without  expression,  and  of  a  transient 
beauty  ;  the  noble  sisters  are  immortal,  their  lofty 
10 


134 


forms  are  unchangeable,  and  their  countenances 
are  still  radiant  with  the  light  of  paradise.  They 
dwell  in  heaven,  and  visit  only  the  noblest  and 
most  severely  tried  of  mankind. 

Novalis. 


Both  love  of  mankind  and  respect  for  their  rights 
are  duties  ;  the  former  however  only  a  conditional, 
the  latter  an  unconditional,  purely  imperative  duty, 
which  he  must  be  perfectly  certain  not  to  have 
transgressed,  who  would  give  himself  up  to  the 
sweet  emotions  arising  from  beneficence. 

Kant.    (Zum  ewigen  Frieden.) 


As  no  censor  can  found  his  prohibitions  on  the 
exclusive  possession  and  protection  of  truth,  he 
must  maintain  his  right  to  a  dominion  over  inquiry 
on  some  other  ground  than  the  worth  or  worthless- 
ness  of  its  results.  This  other  ground  is,  their  in- 
fluence on  ike  people.  The  poor  people  !  Every- 
where are  they  invited  into  the  court  of  the  palace 
when  the  heaviest  burdens  of  war  or  of  peace  are 
to  be  carried  away  ;  everywhere  are  they  driven 
out  of  it  when  the  greatest  treasures  are  to  be  dis- 
tributed, for  example,  light,  art,  pleasure,  Sic. 

With  what  right  does  any  one  class  demand  the 
exclusive  possession  of  light  ?  —  unless  indeed  it 


135 


means  also  to  claim  exclusive  possession  of  the  in- 
iquitous power  of  ruling  more  absolutely  from  its 
own  light  over  others'  darkness. 

Can  a  state  permit  the  developement  of  the  facul- 
ties of  human  nature  only  to  certain  individuals,  as 
it  grants  titles  and  orders  ?  On  the  contrary,  the 
claim  on  a  state  for  the  means  of  culture  is  the 
stronger,  the  smaller  its  actual  amount ;  the  de- 
mand for  the  primary  and  simplest  education,  more 
urgent  than  for  the  highest. 

But  upon  this  matter  the  old  arguments, — the 
hoary  satellites  of  despotism,  —  still  exist ;  namely, 
that  the  people,  like  horses  and  birds  in  the  mill 
or  the  fowling-floor,  serve  both  their  own  interests 
and  the  interests  of  the  state  much  better  when 
blinded. 

But  these  decrepit  servants  of  tyranny  knavishly 
assume  that  the  same  sunlight  which  is  useful  on 
mountains,  is  mischievous  in  valleys ;  and  that 
want  of  education,  though  it  will  not  protect  the 
high  against  error  and  corruption,  will  the  low  ; 
that  truth  misunderstood  can  never  become  truth 
misused  except  among  the  people. 

Jean  Paul. 


....  Such  are  the  desponding  conclusions  as  to 
human  affairs  to  which  we  are  inevitably  driven  if 
we  do  not  cherish  a  firm  conviction  that  the  pure 


136 


abstract  principles  of  right  have  an  objective  reali- 
ty, —  that  is,  are  susceptible  of  execution  ;  and  that 
the  transactions  either  of  the  people  of  a  state,  or 
of  states  with  one  another,  must  be  in  accordance 
with  those  principles,  let  empirical  policy  oppose  to 
them  what  it  may.  True  policy  can  therefore  take 
no  step  without  first  doing  homage  to  morality  ; 
and  although  policy  is  certainly  in  itself  a  difficult 
art,  yet.  its  union  with  morality  is  no  art  at  all ; 
since,  wherever  they  are  opposed,  the  latter  cuts 
the  knot  which  the  former  cannot  untie.  Justice 
must  be  held  sacred  by  men,  let  the  sacrifices  it 
may  cost  the  sovereign  power  be  what  they  may. 
There  can  be  no  acting  by  halves,  nor  contriving 
that  intermediate  thing  between  justice  and  expedi- 
ency,—  a  justice  subject  to  conditions  of  narrow 
and  partial  utility  ;  but  all  policy,  to  have  any  per- 
manent strength,  must  bow  the  knee  to  justice. 

Kant.    (Zum  eicigen  Frieden.) 


RELIGION  AND  ART. 

The  Greeks  were  in  a  certain  sense  fortunate, 
that  long  before  art  had  a  visible  existence,  the 
genius  of  the  people  had  prepared  the  way  for  the 
artist  and  had  prefigured  the  whole  world  of  art. 
That  mystical  element  which  is  so  essential  a  part 
of  religion,  —  in  which  we  dimly  conceive  and  feel 
the  divine  nature  as  infinite  and  absolutely  different 


137 


from  the  human,  —  as  incapable  of  all  representa- 
tion and  the  subject  only  of  faint  and  imperfect 
suggestions,  —  this  element  was  not  wholly  exclud- 
ed indeed,  —  for  that  were  impossible,  —  but  thrown 
into  the  back-ground,  especially  by  poetry.  The 
ancient  legends  which  describe  the  secret  influ- 
ences of  the  universal  powers  of  nature,  had,  even 
as  early  as  the  Homeric  age,  nearly  lost  all  mean- 
ing to  the  Greeks  ;  the  festal  rites  which  sprang 
from  this  root  continued  to  be  observed  as  venera- 
ble and  traditional  ceremonies  ;  but  poetry  fol- 
lowed her  inevitable  course,  —  to  fashion  every 
thing  after  the  analogy  of  human  life  ;  and  with 
this  a  simple  piety,  which  conceived  the  Deity  as  a 
human  protector  and  counsellor,  a  father  and  friend 
in  every  time  of  need,  was  perfectly  consistent. 
The  bards,  who  were  themselves  only  the  organs 
of  the  universal  sentiment,  gradually  rendered  their 
descriptions  more  individual  and  precise  ;  as  we 
see  that  Homer  did  not  attain  to  the  same  degree 
of  sensible  distinctness  which  characterized  the 
poets  of  the  most  flourishing  age  of  plastic  art. 
When,  however,  plastic  art  had  succeeded  in  rep- 
resenting the  outward  forms  of  life  in  all  their  truth 
and  significancy,  there  remained  only  for  her  to 
give  substance  to  the  ideal  images  which  the  im- 
agination had  already  individualized.  And  although 
this  could  never  be  done  without  an  entirely  origi- 
nal conception,  without  inspiration,  and  an  exertion 


138 


of  genius  on  the  part  of  the  artist,  yet  the  general 
conception  of  the  god  entertained  by  the  whole 
nation  was  there,  and  served  as  a  criterion  of  the 
accuracy  of  the  representation.  If  the  established 
and  distinct  conception  of  the  god,  and  the  exqui- 
site sense  of  the  Greeks  for  the  character  of  forms, 
were  completely  satisfied,  a  normal  image  arose,  to 
which  all  succeeding  artists  conformed,  though 
with  the  living  freedom  of  genius  ;  evincing  that 
peculiar  taste  and  judgment  of  the  Hellenic  nations, 
equally  removed  from  oriental  stiffness  and  servil- 
ity, and  from  the  modern  rage  for  originality,  which 
is  the  mere  offspring  of  vanity.  Statues  of  gods 
and  heroes  were  produced,  which  possessed  not 
less  internal  truth  and  distinctness  than  if  the  gods 
and  heroes  had  actually  set  to  the  artists.  This 
state  of  things  the  world  has  beheld  but  once,  be- 
cause it  was  only  in  Greece  that  art  was  the  busi- 
ness of  the  nation. 

The  foregoing  remarks  are  illustrated  chiefly  by 
the  statues  of  those  gods  who  were  in  the  highest 
degree  individualized  :  that  is,  whose  nature  was  the 
least  susceptible  of  being  reduced  to  an  elemental 
idea.  It  is  not  as  significant  symbols,  but  as  actual 
existences,  that  we  consider  them  ;  which  arises 
not  from  their  having  been  the  objects  of  outward 
perception,  but  from  their  ideal  character  having 
lived  through  the  whole  history  of  the  Greek  races 
by  which  they  were  worshipped,  and  received  a 


139 


thousand  impressions  from  it.  Hence  they  are  in 
the  highest  degree  corporeal,  —  they  possess  the 
most  intense  personality. 

They  are,  the  gods  of  Olympus  ;  the  supreme 
Zeus,  with  his  children  and  kindred. 

Ottfried  Mllller. 


BERLIN  SINGING-SCHOOL. 

My  main  reason  for  wishing  for  you  now,  is 
purely  ideal.  Our  chorus  is  now  nothing  less  than 
a  vast  organon,  which  I  can  set  a-playing  or  stop, 
with  a  movement  of  my  hand  ;  and  can  make  it, 
like  a  telegraph,  denote  and  express  great  thoughts. 

An  organ,  every  pipe  of  which  is  a  rational,  vol- 
untary agent,  may  realize  our  highest  conceptions, 
but  then  it  demands  the  highest  mind  to  govern  it. 
Here  are  the  most  promising  youth  of  a  large  and 
not  wholly  corrupted  capital,  gathered  together, 
eagerly  receiving  every  good  suggestion,  and  qui- 
etly following  it  out ;  —  a  school,  whose  end  is  wis- 
dom, whose  means,  poetry,  harmony,  and  song. 

Zelter. 


 God  preserve  us  the  use  of  our  senses,  and 

send  every  beginner  a  competent  master  !  But  as 
these  are  not  always  and  everywhere  to  be  had,  we 
wish  that  every  artist  or  lover  of  art  would  give 


140 


us  a  tisqI  eavxoii  of  his  attempts  ;  of  the  difficulties 
which  he  found  it  the  hardest  to  overcome  ;  of  the 
powers  by  which  he  surmounted  those  difficulties  ; 
of  the  accidents  which  helped  him  ;  of  the  inspira- 
tion that  in  certain  moments  came  over  him  and 
enlightened  him  as  to  his  own  being,  till  at  length, 
gradually  advancing  in  strength,  he  gained  posses- 
sion of  the  mighty  empire,  and  compelled  the  neigh- 
bouring arts,  —  nay,  universal  nature,  —  to  pay 
tribute  to  him  as  king  and  conqueror. 

Thus,  —  proceeding  from  the  mechanical  to  the 
intellectual,  from  the  grinding  of  colors  and  the 
stretching  of  strings  to  the  true  influence  of  the 
arts  on  heart  and  mind,  —  we  might  collect  a  living 
theory,  which  might  delight  and  encourage  the 
lover  of  art,  and  perhaps  afford  no  inconsiderable 
help  to  genius. 

Goethe.  (Recensionen.) 


It  is  as  if  women  made  every  thing  with,  their 
hands,  and  men  with  tools. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


True  hope  is  based  on  energy  of  character.  A 
strong  mind  always  hopes,  and  has  always  cause  to 
hope,  because  it  knows  the  mutability  of  human 
affairs,  and  how  slight  a  circumstance  may  change 


141 


the  whole  course  of  events.  Such  a  spirit,  too, 
rests  upon  itself;  it  is  not  confined  to  partial  views, 
or  to  one  particular  object.  And  if  at  last  all 
should  be  lost,  it  has  saved  itself,  —  its  own  integ- 
rity and  worth. 

Hope  awakens  courage,  while  despondency  is 
the  last  of  all  evils  ;  it  is  the  abandonment  of  good, 
—  the  giving  up  of  the  battle  of  life  with  dead 
nothingness.  He  who  can  implant  courage  in  the 
human  soul  is  its  best  physician. 

To  seek  to  govern  men  by  their  fears  and  their 
wants  is  an  unworthy  purpose  ;  the  desire  to  rule 
by  means  of  cowardice  is  itself  cowardice.  Love 
inspires  courage  and  hope,  and  thus  is  doubly  the 
giver  and  the  preserver  of  life. 

Whatever  teaches  us  boldly  to  combat  the  mani- 
fold doubts  and  assaults  of  life,  enables  us  to  win 
the  crown  of  victory.  Special  care  ought  there- 
fore to  be  taken  in  education  to  teach  what  true 
courage  is,  —  as  well  in  social  and  domestic,  as  in 
public  affairs,  —  and  by  what  means  it  may  best  be 
sustained. 

Von  Knebel. 


The  censor  of  political  and  religious  books 
should  remember  the  Cayba  spider  Don  Antonio 
de  Ulloa  talks  of,  which  gives  out  a  mortal  poison 
if  seized  and  crushed,  but  is  perfectly  innoxious 
when  blown  off  the  skin. 

Jean  PauL 


142 


LETTER  TO  GOETHE. 

March  5th,  1808. 

Frankfort  is  wet,  cold,  odious.  If  it  were  not 
for  your  mother,  winter  here  would  be  intolerable, 
—  so  utterly  without  consistency,  —  nothing  but 
eternally  melting  snow. 

I  have  a  rival  in  her  good  graces,  a  squirrel 
which  a  handsome  French  soldier  left  here  in 
quarters.  She  lets  it  do  whatever  it  likes.  She 
calls  it  Jack  (Hanschen),  and  Jack  may  gnaw  the 
chairs  and  tables, — nay,  he  has  even  had  the 
audacity  to  sit  upon  her  state  cap,  and  bite  the 
feathers  and  flowers. 

A  day  or  two  ago  I  called  in  the  evening,  and 
the  maid  let  me  in,  saying  that  she  was  out,  but 
would  soon  return.  The  room  was  dark,  —  I  sat 
down  by  the  window  and  looked  out.  Suddenly 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  something  rustled.  I  lis- 
tened, and  thought  I  heard  breathing  ;  I  was 
half  afraid  ;  I  heard  something  move  again,  and 
asked,  willing  to  put  it  on  the  squirrel,  "Jack,  are 
you  there?"  "It's  not  Jack,  it's  John,"  an- 
swered a  sonorous  bass  voice  in  the  background, 
to  my  great  surprise  and  consternation,  and  there- 
on the  ubique  mains  spiritus  cleared  his  throat. 
Awestruck,  I  did  not  venture  from  my  place  ;  the 
spirit  gave  no  other  indications  of  his  presence 
than  his  breathing  and  an  occasional  sneeze.  I 


143 


now  heard  your  mother  ;  she  entered  with  Miss 
Lieschen  behind  her,  bearing  the  scarcely  lighted 
candles.  "  Are  you  there?"  said  she,  taking  off 
her  cap,  which  she  deposited  on  its  nocturnal 
stand,  —  a  green  wine  bottle  ;  "Yes,"  exclaimed 
both  of  us  at  once,  and  a  bestarred  gentleman  ad- 
vanced out  of  the  corner,  and  said,  "  Frau  Rath,* 
will  you  let  me  eat  a  ham  salad  and  some  pancakes 
(Eierkuchen)  with  you  to-night  ?  "  Hereupon  I 
concluded  that  John  was  no  other  than  a  prince 
of  Mecklenburg  ;  for  who  has  not  heard  your  moth- 
er tell  the  pretty  story,  how,  at  the  emperor's  cor- 
onation, the  present  Queen  of  Prussia,  then  a 
little  princess,  and  her  brother  saw  the  Frau  Rath 
going  to  eat  this  identical  supper,  and  how  their 
appetite  was  so  inflamed  by  the  sight  that  they  ate 
it  all  to  the  last  leaf  ? 

She  now  related  the  whole  history  over  again  with 
great  glee,  and  many  others  besides  ;  for  instance, 
how  she  procured  for  the  princesses  the  pleasure 
of  pumping  water  till  they  were  tired,  at  the  pump 
in  her  yard  ;  how  she  tried  by  every  possible  argu- 
ment to  prevent  the  governess  from  calling  them 
away,  and  at  last,  finding  she  could  not  prevail, 
used  force,  and  locked  her  up  in  a  room.  "For," 
said  your  mother,  "I  had  rather  have  got  into  the 
most  serious  scrape,  than  that  the  dear  children 

*  Mrs.  Councillor,  —  the  title  by  which  Goethe's  mother  was 
universally  known,  and  peculiar  to  her.  —  Translator. 


144 


should  have  been  disturbed  in  their  innocent  en- 
joyment, which  they  would  never  have  been  al- 
lowed anywhere  but  in  my  house  ;  and  indeed  they 
told  me  when  they  took  leave,  that  they  should 
never  forget  how  happy  and  merry  they  had  been." 

I  could  write  you  sheets  full  of  such  reminis- 
cences. 

Bettina.    (Frau  v.  Arnim.) 
(Briefwechsel  Goethes  mit  einem  Kinde.) 


PESTALOZZI. 

Pestalozzi  places  himself  before  us  in  his  own 
writings  with  the  most  genuine  and  touching  frank- 
ness. I  might  cite  him,  like  Luther,  as  exhibiting  the 
distinctive  features  of  the  German  heart,  and  might 
draw  the  cheering  inference,  that  this  heart,  with 
all  its  wonder-working  powers,  still  beats  within 
the  wide  circle  where  the  German  tongue  is  spoken. 
Pestalozzi,  too,  lived  a  whole  life  of  toil,  struggling 
with  every  possible  obstacle  ;  internally,  with  his 
own  obstinate  confusion  and  awkwardness  of  mind, 
and  his  very  slender  stock  of  the  ordinary  ap- 
pliances furnished  by  a  learned  education  ;  exter- 
nally, with  unceasing  misapprehensions  ;  he  strug- 
gled forward  towards  a  dim  and  shadowy  object,  of 
which  he  had  no  distinct  knowledge  whatever,  yet 
was  sustained  and  borne  along  by  an  unconquer- 
able and  all-powerful  impulse,  —  love  for  the  poor, 


145 


destitute,  neglected  people.  This  all-powerful  love 
made  him,  like  Luther,  (only  in  another  manner, 
and  one  more  suited  to  his  age,)  its  instrument  ;  it 
was  the  life  of  his  life  ;  it  was  unconsciously  to 
himself,  the  strong  and  unbroken  clue  which  guid- 
ed his  whole  course  through  all  the  clouds  that 
surrounded  it,  and  which  crowned  its  evening,  — 
for  it  was  impossible  that  such  a  love  should  depart 
from  earth  unrequited, — with  a  triumph  of  what 
may  be  truly  called  his  intellectual  discovery,  far 
beyond  his  most  daring  hopes.  He  had  wished 
only  to  help  the  people  ;  but  his  discovery,  taken  in 
its  widest  extension,  abolishes  the  people,  —  abolish- 
es the  distinction  between  them  and  the  educated 
classes  ;  gives,  instead  of  popular  education,  (which 
was  the  object  of  his  efforts,)  national  education, 
and  may  in  time  become  the  instrument  of  raising 
the  masses,  and  the  whole  human  race,  out  of  the 
depths  of  that  misery  in  which  he  found  them. 

Fichte.    (Reden  an  die  deutsche  Nation.) 


 Siebenkas  pored  over  a  fatal  iron-mould,  — 

a  pock-mark  or  wart  in  his  wife's  heart  ;  he  could 
never  raise  her  to  a  lyrical  enthusiasm  of  love,  in 
which  she  might  forget  heaven  and  earth  and  all 
things.  She  could  count  the  strokes  of  the  clock 
between  his  kisses,  —  and  listen  to  the  pot  boiling 


146 


over  and  run  to  take  it  off,  with  the  big  tears, 
which  he  had  drawn  forth  by  a  beautiful  story  or  a 
discourse  from  the  outpourings  of  his  heart,  yet 
standing  in  her  eyes.  She  sat  in  the  adjoining 
room  and  sang  to  herself  quavering  psalms,  and 
in  the  middle  of  a  verse  she  interpolated  the  pro- 
saic question,  "  What  shall  I  cook  this  evening  ?  " 
And  he  could  never  get  it  out  of  his  head,  that 
once,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  moved  attention  to 
a  closet-sermon  of  his  on  death  and  eternity,  she 
looked  thoughtful  downwards,  and  at  length  said, 
"  Don't  put  on  your  left  stocking  to-morrow  morn- 
in    ;  I  must  first  mend  a  hole  in  it." 

The  author  of  this  history  hereby  asserts  that 
he  has  often  gone  nearly  out  of  his  mind  in  con- 
sequence of  such-like  feminine  interludes.  It  is 
in  truth  to  be  wished  that  the  said  author,  in  case 
he  enter  into  the  estate  of  matrimony,  may  find  a 
woman  to  whom  he  can  read  the  most  essential 
principles  and  dictata  of  metaphysics  and  astrono- 
n  y,  and  who  will  not,  in  his  most  towering  flights, 
cast  up  his  stockings  at  him.  He  will  however  be 
satisfied  if  one  fall  to  his  lot  who  has  humbler 
merits,  but' who  is  c;  pable  of  soaring  with  him  to 
a  certain  height  ;  —  one  on  whose  opened  eyes  and 
heart  the  flowery  earth  and  beaming  heavens  strike 
not  in  infinitesimals,  but  in  large  and  towering  mass- 
es ;  for  whom  the  great  Whole  is  something  more 
than  a  nursery  or  a  ball-room  ;  one  who,  with  a 


147 

feeling  at  once  tender  and  discriminating,  and  with 
a  heart  at  once  pious  and  large,  for  ever  improves 
the  man  whom  she  has  wedded.  This  it  is,  and 
no  more,  to  which  the  author  of  this  history  limits 
his  wishes. 

Jean  Paul.    ( SiebenkUs. ) 


To  have  freedom,  is  only  to  have  that  which  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  enable  us  to  be  what  we 
ought  to  be,  and  to  possess  what  we  ought  to  pos- 
sess. This  is  clear,  if  we  ask  ourselves  what  are 
the  grounds  and  objects  of  our  aspirations  and 
wishes,  and  reflect  what  are  the  obstacles  to  their 
fulfilment.  This  inquiry  leads  us  to  the  root  of  all 
lying.  The  first  privation  of  freedom  consists  in 
this,  —  that  we  must  not  say  what  we  wish,  nor 
what  we  think.  In  the  secrecy  of  prayer  we  say  it 
to  our  Heavenly  Father,  indeed  he  knows  it  with- 
out our  confessions  ;  but  in  the  world  we  lie  and 
conceal.  Yet  he  alone  is  worthy  to  be  called  a 
friend,  to  whom  we  dare  to  show  ourselves  as  we  are. 
If  lies  are  told  us,  we  must  look  to  ourselves  as  the 
cause  ;  we  must  not  only  deserve  confidence  by 
our  integrity,  but  inspire  and  invite  it  by  our  kinc'- 
ness  and  indulgence.  To  repose  such  confidence 
is  the  profoundest  of  all  social  wants  ;  the  end  and 
the  foundation  of  speech. 

Rahel. 


148 


....  Many  among  you  may  think  it  inexpedient 
to  speak  frequently,  or  indeed  ever,  except  on  oc- 
casions of  great  solemnity,  of  religion,  —  and  to 
this  I  shall  not  attempt  to  reply.  But  the  world 
cannot  forbid  you  to  manifest  the  spirit  of  religion 
in  a  holy  life.  You  may  therefore  show  forth  its 
essence  in  every  act  and  deed  ;  even  the  most  or- 
dinary and  trivial  affairs  and  relations  of  life  need 
not  be  devoid  of- the  expression  of  a  pious  heart. 
Let  the  deep  and  sacred  feeling  which  inspires 
and  governs  all  your  actions,  show  that  even  in 
those  trifles  over  which  a  profane  mind  passes  with 
levity,  the  music  of  a  lofty  sentiment  echoes  in 
your  heart  ;  let  the  majestic  serenity  with  which 
you  estimate  the  great  and  the  small,  prove  that 
you  refer  every  thing  to  the  Immutable,  —  that 
you  perceive  the  Godhead  alike  in  every  thing  ; 
let  the  bright  cheerfulness  with  which  you  encoun- 
ter every  proof  of  our  transitory  nature,  reveal  to 
all  men  that  you  live  above  time  and  above  the 
world  ;  let  your  easy  and  graceful  self-denial  prove 
how  many  of  the  bonds  of  egotism  you  have  al- 
ready broken  ;  and  let  the  ever  quick  and  open 
spirit  from  which  neither  what  is  rarest  nor  most 
ordinary  escapes,  show  with  what  unwearied  ardor 
you  seek  for  every  trace  of  the  Godhead,  —  with 
what  eagerness  you  watch  for  its  slightest  manifes- 
tation. If  your  whole  life,  and  every  movement 
of  your  outward  and  inward  being,  is  thus  guided 


149 


by  religion,  perhaps  the  hearts  of  many  will  be 
touched  by  this  mute  language,  and  will  open  to 
the  reception  of  that  spirit  which  dwells  within  you. 

Schleiermacher.  (Ueber  die  Religion.) 


As  to  the  value  of  conversions,  God  alone  can 
judge.  God  alone  can  know  how  wide  are  the 
steps  which  the  soul  has  to  take  before  it  can  ap- 
proach to  a  community  with  Him,  to  the  dwelling 
of  the  perfect,  or  to  the  intercourse  and  friendship 
of  higher  natures. 

Goethe.  (Recensionen.) 


PROGRESS  AND  PERMANENCY. 

Breslau,  Dec.  23rf,  1805. 

Your  letter  of  the  20th,  which  I  have  just  read 
a  second  time,  contains  something  which  I  cannot 
for  a  moment  leave  unanswered  ;  for  I  cannot  bear 
to  be  misunderstood  by  a  man  like  you  on  so  im- 
portant a  point. 

That  "  I  hate  intellectual  progress,"  I  never 
said,  or  at  least  never  meant.  How  could  I  do 
myself  such  injustice  ?  What  I  meant  is  nearly  as 
follows  :  — 

Two  principles  govern  the  moral  and  intellectual 
world.    One  is  perpetual  progress,  the  other,  the 
necessary  limitations  to  that  progress.    If  the  for- 
11 


150 


mer  alone  prevailed,  there  would  be  nothing  stead- 
fast and  durable  on  earth,  and  the  whole  of  social 
life  would  be  the  sport  of  winds  and  waves.  If  the 
latter  had  exclusive  sway,  or  even  if  it  obtained  a 
mischievous  preponderancy,  every  thing  would  pet- 
rify or  rot.  The  best  ages  of  the  world  are  always 
those  in  which  these  two  principles  are  the  most 
equally  balanced.  In  such  ages  every  enlighten- 
ed man  ought  to  adopt  both  principles  into  his 
whole  mind  and  conduct,  and  with  one  hand  devel- 
ope  what  he  can,  with  the  other  restrain  and  up- 
hold what  he  ought. 

But  in  wild  and  stormy  times,  when  this  balance 
is  destroyed  by  attacks  on  the  conservative  princi- 
ple ;  or  in  dark  and  barbarous  times,  when  the 
principle  of  progress  is  unduly  checked,  it  appears 
to  me  that  every  individual  should  take  a  part,  and 
should  become  to  a  certain  extent  one-sided,  in 
order  to  form  a  sort  of  counterpoise  to  the  disorder 
that  reigns  around  him.  When  fear  of  truth,  per- 
secution for  opinions,  and  stupid  persistency  weigh 
down  the  human  mind,  the  best  men  of  their  age 
must  strive,  even  unto  martyrdom,  for  progress. 
When,  on  the  other  hand,  —  as  in  our  times,  — 
destruction  of  every  kind  is  become  the  ruling  and 
preponderant  tendency,  all  distinguished  men  must 
attach  themselves  obstinately  to  old  opinions  and 
institutions. 

Thus  alone  did  I  understand  the  question.  And 


151 


even  now,  even  in  these  times  of  dissolution,  very 
many  must  of  course  labor  at  the  mental  culture 
of  the  human  race  ;  but  some  must  devote  them- 
selves to  the  more  difficult,  the  more  thankless,  the 
more  dangerous  task  of  struggling  against  the  ex- 
cessive tendency  to  change.  That  these  men  must, 
above  all  things,  be  highly  cultivated,  I  assume  as 
indispensable. 

#  *  *  *  * 

I  am  as  little  inclined  to  extremes  as  you.  The 
difference  between  us  lies  mainly  in  this  :  you 
have  the  principle  of  progress,  as  aim,  constantly 
before  your  eyes  ;  but,  too  great  and  too  wise  to 
rush  blindly  forward,  you  have  learned  and  have 
admirably  taught  others,  how  necessary  it  is  to 
hold  the  rein  even  while  you  urge  forward.  I  have 
chosen  the  conservative  principle  as  my  polar  star; 
but  I  never  forget  that  we  must  urge  onward,  even 
while  we  keep  a  steady  rein. 

In  tranquil  times  we  should  stand  precisely  on 
the  same  line  ;  even  in  the  storms  of  these  tremen- 
dous days  we  are  in  a  state  of  perpetual  approxi- 
mation ;  both  extremely  near  to  the  centre,  though 
starting  from  a  different  point  of  the  periphery. 

Greidz.  {Briefe  an  Johannes  v.  Midler.) 


They  came,  saw,  and  conquered,  —  all  who 
were  at  table  expecting  them.     Heavens  !  they 


152 


were  enlightened,  eighteenth-century  men.  They 
stood  up  stoutly  for  moderate  freedom,  and  good 
amusing  reading,  and  moderate  deism,  and  moder- 
ate philosophy.  They  delivered  themselves  most 
clearly  against  the  apparition  of  spirits, — against 
all  illusions  and  all  extremes.  They  liked  very 
well  to  read  their  poets,  —  as  models  of  style  to  be 
advantageously  used  in  business,  and  as  relaxa- 
tions from  solid  affairs  ;  they  relished  nightingales, 
—  roasted  ;  and  liked  myrtles,  as  Spanish  bakers 
do,  —  to  heat  their  ovens  with  ;  they  had  killed 
the  great  sphynx,  who  sets  us  the  riddle  of  life, 
and  carried  off  the  stuffed  hide,  and  they  held  it 
for  a  wonder  that  anybody  else  would  now  submit 
to  be  puzzled.  Genius,  said  they,  we  would  cer- 
tainly not  throw  away  ;  we  would  keep  it  for  sale. 
And  their  icy  souls  burn  but  for  one  object,  —  for 
the  body  ;  this  is  solid  and  real  ;  this  is  the  true 
state,  and  religion,  and  art. 

Jean  Paul.  (Titan.) 


THE  HARTZ. 

 The  mountains  were  here  steeper,  the  pine 

forests  waved  beneath  like  a  deep  green  sea,  and 
white  clouds  floated  across  the  blue  heavens.  The 
wildness  of  the  scene  was,  as  it  were,  tamed  by  its 
unity  and  simplicity.  Nature,  like  a  good  poet, 
loves  no  abrupt  transitions.    The  clouds,  however 


153 


fantastic  be  their  forms,  have  a  pure  and  tender 
coloring  which  harmonizes  with  the  blue  sky  and 
the  green  earth,  so  that  all  the  hues  of  a  region 
melt  into  each  other  like  soft  music,  and  nature, 
under  each  of  her  aspects,  has  a  tranquillizing  and 
soothing  influence. 

Like  a  great  poet  too,  nature  can  produce  the 
greatest  effects  with  the  fewest  means.  There  are 
only  a  sun,  trees,  flowers,  water,  —  and  love.  It 
is  true,  if  this  is  wanting  in  the  heart  of  the  specta- 
tor, the  whole  may  present  but  a  poor  uninterest- 
ing spectacle  ;  and  the  sun  is  then  only  so  many 
miles  in  diameter,  and  the  trees  are  good  for  fire- 
wood, and  the  flowers  are  classified  according  to 
the  number  of  their  stamina,  and  the  water  is  wet. 
*  #  #  *  # 

A  little  boy,  who  was  gathering  brushwood  in 
the  forest  for  his  sick  uncle,  pointed  out  to  me  the 
village  of  Leerbach.  He  seemed  to  be  upon  a 
footing  of  the  greatest  intimacy  with  the  trees  ;  he 
greeted  them  as  old  acquaintances,  and  they  rustled 
their  greetings  in  reply.  He  whistled  like  a  linnet, 
and  the  other  birds  all  around  answered  him  ;  and 
before  I  was  well  aware,  he  had  disappeared  in  the 
thicket  with  his  naked  feet  and  his  bundle  of  brush- 
wood. 

Children,  thought  I,  are  younger  than  we,  and 
can  still  remember  the  time  when  they  were  trees 
or  birds,  and  can  therefore  understand  and  speak 


154 


their  language  ;  but  we  are  grown  old,  and  have 
too  many  cares,  and  too  much  jurisprudence  and 
bad  poetry  in  our  heads. 

Heinrich  Heine.  (Reisebilder.) 


It  is  indifferent  in  what  condition  we  are,  if  we 
are  not  in  that  we  wish  for. 

Rahel. 


Liane  stood  in  the  moonlight  behind  the  plashy 
water.  Albano  tore  asunder  the  branches  which 
obstructed  his  view,  and  looked,  uncovered  and 
breathless,  on  the  holy  beauty  of  the  vision.  With 
the  unearthly  station  and  look  of  a  Grecian  god, 
Liane  stood  resplendent  in  the  moonbeams,  and 
the  entranced  youth  beheld  the  young,  open,  se- 
rene Madonna  brow,  on  which  none  of  the  world's 
sorrows  and  disturbances  had  traced  a  furrow  or 
thrown  a  shade,  —  and  the  small,  delicate,  scarcely 
arched  eyebrow,  —  and  the  face  like  a  perfect 
pearl,  oval  and  white,  —  and  the  loosened  locks 
lying  on  the  lilies  of  the  valley  at  her  heart,  —  and 
the  slender,  graceful  form,  which,  with  her  white 
garments,  gave  a  diviner  air  to  her  beauty,  —  and 
the  ideal  stillness  of  her  whole  being,  as  she  stood 
laying  only  her  fingers,  and  not  her  arm,  on  the 
balcony,  as  if  the  Psyche  only  hovered  over  the 


155 


lily-bell  of  her  body,  and  shook  or  bowed  it  never, 
—  and  the  large  blue  eyes,  which,  while  her  head 
sank  a  little,  unclosed  with  inexpressible  beauty, 
and  seemed  to  lose  themselves  in  dreams,  and  in 
distant  plains  glowing  in  the  evening  red. 

Thrice  happy  man  !  The  only  visible  goddess, 
Beauty,  appears  to  thee  suddenly  in  all  her  might 
and  majesty,  and  accompanied  by  all  her  heavens. 

Jean  Paul.  (Titan.) 


How  rarely  do  men  accurately  weigh  what  they 
have  to  sacrifice  against  what  they  have  to  gain  ! 
How  hard  is  it  to  will  the  end,  and  not  to  turn 
with  repugnance  from  the  means  !  Many  transpose 
them,  and  delight  themselves  in  the  means,  while 
they  lose  sight  of  the  end.  They  seek  to  cure 
every  disease  topically  on  the  spot  where  it  first 
shows  itself,  and  take  no  care  to  discover  the  point 
where  it  really  has  its  origin,  and  whence  it  acts. 
Hence  is  it  so  difficult  to  profit  by  advice,  —  espe- 
cially for  the  many,  who  are  intelligent  enough 
about  their  every-day  affairs,  but  seldom  see  be- 
yond the  morrow.  Thus  it  happens,  that  when,  in 
any  popular  institution  or  scheme,  one  man  loses 
and  another  gains,  it  is  impossible  to  come  at  a  fair 
comparison  of  the  respective  portions  of  good  and 
evil.  All  truly  common  good  must  be  the  result  of 
an  act  of  the  uncontrolled  sovereign  will. 

Goethe. 


156 


LOUISA,  QUEEN   OF  PRUSSIA,  TO  HER  FATHER,  THE 
DUKE   OF   MECKLENBURG  STRELITZ. 

Memel,  June  Ylth,  1807. 

With  the  deepest  emotion  and  tears  of  the  ten- 
derest  gratitude,  I  have  read  your  letter  of  April 
last.  How  can  I  thank  you,  best  and  kindest  of 
fathers,  for  all  the  proofs  I  have  received  of  your 
love,  your  favor,  your  indescribable  goodness  to 
me  ?  What  a  consolation,  what  a  support  are  they 
to  me  in  my  afflictions  !  The  object  of  such  love 
cannot  be  utterly  unhappy. 

Another  enormous  calamity  has  overtaken  us, 
and  we  are  now  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  king- 
dom. You  may  think  what  is  my  state,  —  what  are 
my  feelings.  Yet  in  the  name  of  God  I  conjure 
you,  do  not  misunderstand  your  daughter  !  Be- 
lieve not  that  any  pusillanimous  sorrow  bows  down 
my  head.  There  are  two  main  sources  of  courage 
that  raise  me  above  all  that  fate  can  do  :  the  first 
is  the  thought  that  we  are  no  sport  of  a  blind 
chance,  but  that  we  abide  in  God's  hand,  and 
under  the  guidance  of  his  providence  ;  the  second, 
that  we  fall  with  honor.  The  king  has  proved,  — 
to  the  whole  world  he  has  proved,  —  that  he  prefers 
honor  to  a  shameful  submission.  Prussia  will  not 
wear  the  chains  of  a  voluntary  slavery.  Nor  is 
there  a  single  point  on  which  the  king  could  have 
acted  otherwise,  without  being  false  to  his  own 


157 


character,  and  a  traitor  to  his  people.  What 
strength  the  consciousness  of  this  gives,  he  alone 
can  know  through  whose  whole  being  the  feeling 
of  honor  flows  like  life-blood. 
But  to  the  point. 

By  the  disastrous  battle  of  Friedland,  Konigs- 
berg  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  French.  The 
enemy  presses  hard  upon  us,  and  if  this  danger  ap- 
proaches but  a  little  nearer,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
leave  Memel  with  my  children.  The  king  will 
rejoin  the  emperor.  I  go,  as  soon  as  the  peril  be- 
comes imminent,  to  Riga  :  —  God  will  help  me  to 
endure  the  moment  when  I  must  pass  the  frontier 
of  Prussia.  There  I  shall  stand  in  need  of  strength; 
but  I  look  up  to  Heaven,  whence  come  both  good 
and  evil,  and  my  fast  faith  is  that  it  sends  not  more 
than  we  can  bear  !  Once  more,  best  of  fathers, 
we  fall  with  honor,  respected  by  other  nations,  and 
we  shall  never  cease  to  have  friends,  because  we 
deserve  them.  How  tranquillizing  this  thought  is, 
it  is  impossible  to  say.  I  bear  all  with  a  calmness 
and  composure  which  only  a  peaceful  conscience 
and  pure  intentions  can  give. 

Be  assured  therefore,  dearest  father,  that  we  can 
never  be  completely  unhappy,  and  that  many  who 
are  loaded  with  crowns  and  successes  are  not  so 
cheerful  as  we.  God  send  every  virtuous  man 
peace  in  his  own  breast,  and  he  will  ever  find  cause 
of  rejoicing.    Yet  one  thing  more  for  your  conso- 


15S 


lation,  — nothing  will  ever  be  done  on  our  side  that 
is  not  consistent  with  the  strictest  honor,  and  with 
fidelity  to  the  common  cause.  Think  not  of  the 
possibility  of  any  pitiful  concessions  for  our  own 
peculiar  interest.  This  will  be  a  comfort  to  you,  I 
know,  and  to  all  who  belong  to  me. 

I  am  ever*  your  true,  dutiful,  and  most  loving 
daughter,  and,  God  be  thanked,  I  can  say, — since 
your  gracious  kindness  permits  me,  — 

Your  Friend, 

Louisa. 


Extracts  from  Niebuhr's  letters,  during  the  retreat  of  the  Prussian 
Court  before  the  French. 

Stettin,  Oct.  20th,  1806. 
I  hope,  my  dearest  parents,  you  received  the 
letter  in  which  I  informed  you  of  our  arrival  here. 
This  will  have  tranquillized  you  as  to  our  personal 
safety.  Concerning  our  future  destiny  you  must 
not  be  uneasy.  We  regard  it  without  dismay  ;  and 
for  this  I  have,  in  these  awful  times,  to  thank  the 
education  which  you  gave  me,  my  dearest  father, 
and  the  principles  which  I  have  ever  followed  out 
in  my  subsequent  life.  I  shall  always  be  able  to 
gain  a  subsistence.  If,  as  is  probable,  all  those 
brilliant  prospects  which  lately  seemed  to  open  be- 
fore us  have  for  ever  vanished,*  I  shall  be  able  to 

*  Niebuhr's  career  under  the  Prussian  government. 


159 


make  my  way  as  a  man  of  letters  or  a  merchant, 
and  if  I  cannot  succeed  in  one  country,  I  shall  not 
fail  to  do  so  in  another.  A  place  of  refuge  and 
bread  we  shall  always  find  ;  and  I  entreat  you  to 
be  persuaded  that  the  thought  that  the  horrible  ca- 
lamities which  overwhelm  the  country  have  also 
ruined  our  own  flattering  prospects,  does  not  for 
one  moment  mingle  with  our  profound  affliction  for 
the  fate  of  Prussia  and  of  Europe.  My  social  po- 
sition would,  in  happier  times,  have  become  very 
fortunate.  I  might,  under  a  most  excellent  minis- 
ter.* have  been  able  to  introduce  and  to  execute 
many  beneficial  measures.  I  should  have  worked 
with  satisfaction  and  pleasure,  and  might  have 
reckoned  on  all  those  honors  and  advantages  which 
are  the  rewards  of  a  life  devoted  to  public  business. 
All  this  is  over  ;  but  even  for  all  this  I  should  not 
lament. 

We  set  out  to-morrow  for  Danzig.  As  the 
French  have  entered  Berlin,  and  will  probably 
soon  proceed  hither,  we  can  no  longer  postpone 
our  departure.  It  is  a  long  way  to  Danzig,  and 
the  season  is  far  advanced.  In  Lower  Pomerania 
we  shall  be  wretchedly  off  for  the  accommodations 
or  even  the  necessaries  of  life.  For  me  this  is 
nothing  ;  may  God  only  preserve  my  Amelia's 
health  ! 

Whether  Danzig  will  be  the  end  of  our  flight, 

*Von  Stein. 


160 


or  whether  we  shall  have  to  go  yet  further  to  the 
northeast,  time  will  show.  I  endeavour  not  to 
think  of  it  ;  but  we  will  bear  whatever  comes  with 
fortitude.  Do  not  fear  that  we  should  be  in  want 
of  money  ;  we  are  abundantly  provided. 

You  will  probably  have  a  tolerably  correct  idea 
from  the  Hamburg  papers  of  the  frightful  condition 
of  our  army.  A  light  now  begins  to  break  upon 
us,  and  gradually  to  illumine  the  dreadful  chaos  ; 
it  exhibits  a  picture  which  I  must  summon  courage 
to  contemplate. 

Adieu  !  best  of  parents  !  I  say  it  with  a  heavy 
heart.  Perhaps  even  our  correspondence  will  be  in- 
terrupted. Farewell, — once  more  farewell,  dear- 
est parents,  dear  sister,  kind  aunt  ! 

Barthold  G.  Niebuhr. 


Oct.  23rf,  1806. 

 If  you  knew  this  people,  you  would  find 

them  worthy  of  your  love.  I  never  expected  in 
our  days  to  find  so  much  vigor,  earnestness,  truth, 
and  kindliness  combined.  Led  by  a  great  spirit, 
they  would  have  remained  unconquerable  by  the 
whole  world  ;  and  even  now,  though  the  torrent 
overspread  the  land  with  the  rapidity  of  a  whirl- 
wind, yet  such  a  spirit  might  drive  it  back  again. 

But  where  is  it,  —  that  great  spirit  ? 

#  #  #  *  # 


161 


Konigsberg,  Nov.  \2th. 

 Our  life  here  is  a  cheerless  one,  from  the 

time  of  year,  the  impassable  roads,  and  the  gener- 
al confusion.  We  are  almost  prisoners,  —  without 
tidings  of  you,  of  our  other  friends,  or  of  threaten- 
ed Denmark. 

Farewell  !  Perhaps  a  long  farewell.  We  will 
neglect  no  opportunity  of  writing.  An  interchange 
of  thoughts  and  feelings  will  subsist  between  us, 
even  should  all  means  of  embodying  them  in  words 
be  denied  us. 

#         #         i         #  # 

Bartenstein,  May  5th,  1807. 

 Our  journey  from  Konigsberg  hither  was 

very  interesting,  but  the  most  melancholy  of  my 
life.  Even  close  to  Konigsberg  you  see  some  ru- 
ined and  deserted  houses  ;  in  the  villages  more 
than  half  are  uninhabited  ;  there  are  no  cattle  in 
the  fields,  —  here  and  there,  but  very  rarely,  a 
scanty  flock  of  sheep  or  swine  ;  scarcely  any  peo- 
ple to  be  seen  ;  —  every  thing  bespeaks  misery 
and  fear. 

Landsberg  an  der  Warthe,  Dec.  13th,  1807. 

 My  worst  fears  could  not  have  pictured  to 

me  a  more  melancholy  and  painful  journey,  accom- 
panied with  all  the  distressing  anxieties  caused  by 
the  season  and  the  circumstances  

 Late  at  night  of  the  28th  we  reached  Brauns- 


162 


berg,  and  could  not  get  post-horses  till  the  follow- 
ing day  at  noon.  We  now  reached  a  part  of  the 
country  which  has  suffered  the  most  grievously 
from  devastation  and  disease.  The  country  from 
Braunsberg  to  beyond  the  Prussian  march  is  for 
ten  miles  (German)  magnificent,  stretching  away 
in  hills  of  considerable  height  ;  a  very  fruitful  soil, 
inhabited,  before  these  disastrous  times,  by  opu- 
lent peasants  in  pretty  villages,  scarcely  exceeded 
by  those  of  the  finest  parts  of  Holstein.  But  the 
roads  are  in  the  most  deplorable  state,  from  the 
passage  of  troops  and  the  transport  of  artillery, 
since  which  it  has  been  impossible  to  mend  them. 
For  there  are  scarcely  any  men,  and  still  less  hor- 
ses, to  be  found  in  the  country.  The  land  all  lies 
fallow,  and  bears,  as  our  hostess  sadly  said,  only 
flowers. 

Barthold  Georg  Niebuhr.  (Lebensnachrichten.) 


I  would  fain  know  what  music  is  ;  I  seek  it  as 
man  seeks  eternal  wisdom.  Yesterday  evening  I 
walked  late  in  the  moonlight  in  the  beautiful  ave- 
nue of  lime-trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  I 
heaid  a  tapping  noise  and  soft  singing.  At  the 
door  of  a  cottage,  under  the  blossoming  lime  tree, 
sat  a  mother  with  her  twin  babes  ;  the  one  lay  at 
her  breast,  the  other  in  a  cradle,  which  she  rocked 
with  her  foot,  keeping  time  to  her  singing. 


163 


In  the  very  germ  then,  when  the  first  trace  of 
life  scarce  begins  to  stir,  music  is  the  nurse  of  the 
soul  ;  it  murmurs  in  the  ear,  and  the  child  sleeps  ; 
the  tones  are  the  companions  of  his  dreams,  — they 
are  the  world  in  which  he  lives.  He  has  nothing  ; 
the  babe,  although  cradled  in  his  mother's  arms,  is 
alone  in  the  spirit  ;  but  tones  find  entrance  into 
this  half-conscious  soul,  and  nourish  it  as  the  earth 
nourishes  the  life  of  plants. 

Betlina.    (Briefivechsel  Goetkes  mit  einem  Kinde.) 


The  plays  of  natural  lively  children  are  the  in- 
fancy of  art.  Children  live  in  the  world  of  imagin- 
ation and  feeling.  They  invest  the  most  insignifi- 
cant object  with  any  form  they  please,  and  see  in 
it  whatever  they  wish  to  see. 

Oehlenschlctger. 


Sebastian  Bach  is  esteemed  the  greatest  of 
harmonists,  and  with  justice.  That  he  is  a  poet  of 
the  highest  order,  one  can  scarcely  venture  to  as- 
sert ;  and  yet  he  belongs  to  those  who,  like  your 
Shakspeare,  are  elevated  far  above  childish  clap- 
traps. As  a  servant  of  the  church,  he  wrote  for 
the  church  alone,  and  yet  not  in  what  is  commonly 
called  a  church  style.  His  style,  like  all  that  is 
his,  is  Bachish.    That  he  used  the  common  signs 


164 


and  names,  sonata,  concerto,  &c,  is  no  more  than 
that  a  man  is  called  Joseph  or  Christopher.  Bach's 
native  and  prime  element  is  solitude  ;  and  this  you 
instinctively  felt,  when  you  said,  "  I  lie  down  in 
my  bed  and  get  our  organist  from  Berka  to  play 
Sebastiana."    Such  is  he  ;  he  will  be  hearkened 
to  with  silent  watchfulness.  #  *  *  But  he  ought  to 
be  followed  on  the  organ.    This  is  the  living  soul, 
into  which  he  breathes  the  immediate  breath  of 
life.    His  theme  is  the  new-born  thought  or  feeling 
which,  like  the  spark  from  the  flint,  springs  out  of 
the  first  accidental  pressure  of  the  pedal  ;  by  de- 
grees he  works  himself  into  it,  till  he  abstracts 
himself  from  the  whole  world,  and  then  an  exhaust- 
less  stream  flows  onward  to  the  infinite  ocean. 
His  great  organ  compositions  leave  off,  but  they 
are  not  done  ;  in  them  is  no  end. 

Zeller. 

(answer.) 

Well  do  I  remember  the  good  organist  of 
Berka  ;  for  then,  for  the  first  time,  —  in  perfect 
tranquillity  of  mind  and  free  from  outward  inter- 
ruptions, I  gained  an  idea  of  your  great  master, 
Sebastian  Bach.  I  expressed  it  to  myself  thus  ;  — 
that  it  was  as  if  the  Eternal  Harmony  held  con- 
verse with  itself,  as  it  might  be  imagined  to  have 
done  in  the  bosom  of  the  Deity  just  before  crea- 
tion. Thus,  too,  it  moved  in  my  inmost  being  ; 
and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  no  ears,  still  less 


165 

eyes  ;  and  that  I  neither  had,  nor  wanted,  any  out- 
ward sense. 

Goethe.  {Brief weclisel.) 


Friendship  requires  actions  :  love  requires  not 
so  much  proofs,  as  expressions,  of  love.  Love  de- 
mands little  else  than  the  power  to  feel  and  to  re- 
quite love. 

Jean  Paul.    {Paling enesien.) 


The  style  of  writing  required  in  the  great  world 
is  distinguished  by  a  free  and  daring  grace,  a  care- 
less security,  a  fine  and  sharp  polish,  a  delicate 
and  perfect  taste  ;  while  that  fitted  for  the  people  is 
characterized  by  a  vigorous  natural  fulness,  a  pro- 
found depth  of  feeling,  and  an  engaging  naivete. 
We  do  not  now  speak  of  a  still  higher  region,  — 
that  of  genius,  —  for  which  there  exist  no  bounda- 
ries of  high  and  low  ;  which  embraces  the  most  pol- 
ished cosmopolitanism  and  the  homeliest  nationality. 

Goethe. 


ARABIA. 

Arabia,  the  land  of  the  West,  was  so  called  by 
the  Chaldeans  because  its  higher  deserts  lie  to  the 
west,  while  the  Syrians  called  its  inhabitants  Sara- 
12 


166 


cens, — easterns.  The  name  Barbar,  son  of  the 
desert,  was  of  native  origin,  and  a  title  of  honor  ; 
they  looked  with  disdain  on  the  dwellers  in  cities. 

Two  deep  gulfs  define  the  peninsula  of  Arabia  ; 
the  desert  stretches  from  the  ancient  empire  of  Per- 
sia to  that  of  Rome.  The  whole  country  is  said  to 
contain  fifty-five  thousand  square  miles.  Nature 
in  the  desert  seems  dead.  The  sun  glares  fiercely 
in  an  ever  dry  and  cloudless  sky  ;  the  naked  hills 
appear  flayed  and  seared  by  the  winds,  and  dis- 
close boundless  plains  where  no  shadow  refreshes 
the  wanderer,  where  no  object  affords  a  resting- 
place  for  his  eye.  Between  him  and  all  living 
creatures  lies  a  space  across  which  the  sight  cannot 
travel  ;  at  far  intervals  a  spring  rises  under  the 
shade  of  a  solitary  cluster  of  palms,  and  soon  is  lost 
again  in  the  sand.  The  Arab  alone  knows  these 
resting-places  ;  he  dwells  alone  in  their  shades  ; 
free,  and  possessed  of  more  than  enough  to  satisfy 
his  few  and  simple  wants,  hither  he  bears  the  slaves 
and  treasures,  the  spoil  of  caravans  which  had  im- 
prudently entered  into  conflict  with  the  followers  of 
the  Great  Emir  of  the  desert. 

These  islands  in  the  sandy  ocean  are  connected 
only  by  the  camel.  Like  the  inhabitants,  this  ani- 
mal learns  from  his  earliest  days  to  bear  thirst, 
hunger,  and  watching  ;  he  traverses  three  or  four 
hundred  leagues  without  drinking  more  than  once 
in  eight  or  ten  days, — without  eating  more  than  a 


167 


few  thistles,  roots  of  wormwood,  and  nettles  ;  he 
carries  a  burden  of  twelve  or  thirteen  hundred 
pounds  for  a  week  together  without  ever  being  un- 
loaded ;  in  him  is  the  Arab's  safety,  wealth,  and 
most  faithful  companion  ;  a  nod  directs  his  steps, 
and  a  song  renews  his  vigor. 

Johannes  v.  Mttller. 


 I  have  been  very  industrious  during  the  last 

few  weeks,  and  have  studied  much.  You  may 
think  of  me  at  my  writing-table  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  day.  I  know  not  by  what  train  of  cir- 
cumstances a  great  thirst  for  knowledge  suddenly, 
and  as  if  afresh,  has  been  awakened  within  me,  but 
it  is  very  long  since  I  have  felt  it  in  an  equal  de- 
gree. I  abandon  myself  to  this  inclination  so  much 
the  more  readily,  as  I  have  no  heart,  so  long  as  I 
am  away  from  you,  to  produce  any  thing  of  value. 
And  my  views  and  purposes  are  generally  too 
firmly  established  for  me  to  fear  that  I  should  fall 
into  the  vague  and  desultory  reading  for  which  I 
have  a  peculiar  contempt.  Every  thing  that  I  set 
about  has  a  definite  purpose,  and  I  never  quit  it 
without  drawing  from  the  materials  I  have  collected 
the  results  answerable  to  that  purpose.  With  this 
condition,  I  can  scarcely  resist  my  desire  to  en- 
deavour to  see,  to  know,  to  examine  as  much  as  is 
possible. 


168 


Man  appears  to  me  to  be  here  in  order  that  he 
may  make  all  that  surrounds  him  his  own, — the 
property  of  his  understanding  ;  — and  life  is  short. 
I  would  fain,  when  I  must  depart  hence,  leave  be- 
hind me  as  little  as  possible  which  I  have  not 
brought  into  contact  with  my  own  mind.  This  de- 
sire has  always  been  part  of  my  nature,  and  has, 
alas  !  often  led  me  astray,  so  as  to  defeat  its  own 
ends.  In  knowledge,  as  well  as  in  life,  I  have 
ever  suffered  for  too  wide  a  dispersion  of  myself. 
I  have  grasped  at  every  thing,  and  have  forgotten, 
that,  while  steady  application  to  one  object  leaves 
permanent  results,  attention  to  many  consumes  the 
mental  vigor  and  faculties  in  vain. 

With  life,  I  have  arrived  at  greater  tranquillity  ; 
and  with  knowledge,  the  conflict  is,  God  be  praised, 
less  perilous.  ^ 

Wilhelm  v.  Humboldt.   (Brie/wechsel  mit  Schiller.) 


justinian's  attempt  to,  prevent  comments  on 
his  compilations. 

The  means  resorted  to  by  Justinian  with  a  view 
to  put  an  end  to  all  the  difficulties  and  controver- 
sies arising  on  the  application  of  scientific  law, 
were  as  new  as  they  were  arbitrary.  He  caused 
all  that  was  necessary  to  a  complete  view  of  the 
existing  law  and  especially  to  the  administration  of 
the  law,  to  be  extracted  from  the  whole  mass  of 


169 


jurisprudential  literature,  without  reference  to  the 
limits  prescribed  by  Valentinian  the  Third.  The 
matter  so  extracted  was  collected  in  a  book  and 
promulgated  as  law,  while  all  the  rest  was  abro- 
gated. But  he  entirely  forbade  the  rise  of  a  new 
jurisprudential  literature  for  the  future.  Only 
Greek  translations  of  the  Latin  text,  and  (by  way 
of  mechanical  aid)  short  sketches  of  the  contents 
of  the  title,  were  to  be  allowed  ;  if  any  book  prop- 
erly so  called,  any  commentary  on  these  laws, 
were  written,  it  was  to  be  destroyed,  and  the  author 
subjected  to  the  punishment  inflicted  on  forgery. 

The  only  means  for  insuring  the  maintenance 
and  propagation  of  legal  knowledge,  was  therefore 
oral  teaching  in  the  schools  of  law,  which  were 
consequently  provided  with  a  new  plan  of  instruc- 
tion. If,  however,  we  consider  this  plan  in  con- 
junction with  the  abovementioned  prohibition,  the 
design  of  it  cannot  be  doubtful.  It  was  unques- 
tionably not  intended  as  a  means  of  subjecting  those 
books  to  the  free  investigation  and  discussion  of 
the  teacher,  which  would  have  excited  a  kindred 
activity  of  mind  in  the  learner,  and  thus  have  per- 
petuated a  science  of  law  independent  of  the  matter 
they  contained  ;  for  such  a  proceeding  would  have 
been  obviously  at  variance  with  the  purpose  of  the 
prohibition.  The  instruction  must,  on  the  contrary, 
have  consisted  in  a  mechanical  learning  by  rote, 
and  the  functions  of  the  teacher  must  have  been 


170 


restricted  to  helping  the  learner  over  those  difficul- 
ties which  are  inherent  in  new  matter  of  such  enor- 
mous extent.  One  thought,  therefore,  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  all  these  edicts  ;  viz.  that  this  selection 
from  the  legal  science  and  wisdom  of  former  ages 
was  adequate  to  all  the  wants  of  society,  and  could 
only  be  impaired  by  any  new  work. 

To  many,  such  a  thought,  thus  literally  ex- 
pressed, may  appear  extravagant,  and  they  may 
therefore  seek  to  give  it  a  figurative  or  a  milder 
interpretation  ;  —  erroneously,  as  I  think. 

When  Justinian  came  to  the  throne,  he  probably 
heard  as  loud  complaints  of  the  disastrous  confu- 
sion of  the  law,  and  the  urgent  need  for  a  thorough 
reform,  as  Frederic  the  Second  of  Prussia,  in  the 
year  1740.  A  happy  accident  surrounded  him  with 
jurists  of  such  perspicacity  as  had  not  appeared  for 
more  than  a  century,  nor  was  he  himself  deficient 
either  in  legal  knowledge,  or  in  energy  and  desire 
of  fame.  He  endeavoured,  therefore,  to  apply  a 
remedy  to  the  evil  which  was  felt  to  be  the  most 
pressing,  —  the  unmanageable  mass  of  jurispruden- 
tial literature  and  the  numerous  contradictions  it 
contained.  There  was  no  example  of  any  under- 
taking of  a  similar  nature  by  which  to  measure 
that  now  contemplated,  and  hence  the  opinion 
might  honestly  be  entertained  at  the  imperial  court, 
that  an  admirable  state  of  the  law  might  thus  be 
produced,  and  that  there  was  no  other  way  of 


171 


effectually  preventing  a  relapse  into  the  old  evil, 
but  by  legal  prohibition.  Nor  was  there  the  small- 
est ground  for  fearing  that  any  existing  intellectual 
activity  would  be  crushed  by  this  prohibition  (as 
was  the  case  when  Hadrian  and  Marcus  Aurelius 
entertained  a  similar  project)  ;  for  the  degree  of 
vigor  and  intelligence  which  the  present  time  had 
to  offer  were  obvious  to  every  one,  and  were  man- 
ifestly little  susceptible  of  deterioration.  The  threat 
of  criminal  punishment,  and  even  the  prohibition  to 
write  books,  is  indeed  wholly  alien  from  our  man- 
ners ;  and,  since  the  invention  of  printing,  and  the 
active  intercourse  of  the  several  states  of  Europe, 
all  such  schemes  would  be  absurd  and  extravagant. 
But  if  we  pass  over  this  despotical  manner  of  exe- 
cuting the  project,  as  merely  accidental,  the  fun- 
damental idea  which  prompted  it  is,  in  fact,  the 
same  self-delusion  which,  deeply  rooted  in  human 
nature,  is  continually  recurring  in  every  part  of 
the  domain  of  opinion,  and  especially  in  the  reli- 
gious part  :  that  is,  we  believe  ourselves  permitted 
to  impose  on  others,  as  exclusively  right  and  au- 
thoritative, that  particular  formula  of  thought  which 
we  have  constructed  by  the  honest  and  conscien- 
tious exertion  of  our  own  powers,  thus  (as  we 
think)  for  ever  banishing  error  ;  —  and  with  it,  it  is 
true,  freedom  of  thought. 

Justinian  established  this  sort  of  jurisprudential 
concordat,  and  no  one  was  to  dare  to  disturb  the 


172 


peace  which  it  was  intended  to  secure.  Shall  we 
judge  him  severely  for  this  ?  Our  mental  horizon 
is  extended  by  the  experience  of  nearly  two  thou- 
sand years,  and  yet  the  essence  of  this  idea  of  Jus- 
tinian's still  dwells  in  those  who  entertain  visionary 
hopes  from  the  construction  of  new  codes  ;  though 
they  are  without  the  power,  and  indeed  without  the 
will,  to  execute  their  project  by  the  stern  compul- 
sion resorted  to  by  Justinian. 

Von  Savigmj.  (System  des  heutigen  romischen  Rechls.) 


There  are  days  in  which  we  are  in  a  most  feli- 
citous vein  for  the  conception  of  new  images  and 
projects,  but  can  neither  communicate  nor  mature 
any  of  them.  These  are  not  thoughts,  they  are 
only  the  ghosts  of  thoughts. 

A.  W.  v.  Schlegel. 


And  so  he  stayed,  —  as  he  would,  —  as  he 
must.  But  the  delight  of  being  with  her,  near 
her,  was  like  no  other  delight.  And  in  her,  also, 
this  same  feeling  remained  unchangeable  ;  she  too 
could  not  withdraw  herself  from  the  dominion  of 
this  sweet  necessity.  After  the  resolution  which 
for  ever  divided  them,  no  less  than  before  it,  an  in- 
describable, almost  magical  power  of  attraction, 
exerted  itself  in  each  towards  the  other.    If  they 


173 


were  in  the  same  room,  it  was  not  long  ere  they 
stood,  they  sat,  near  each  other.  Nothing  but  the 
nearest  nearness  could  tranquillize  them,  —  and 
this  tranquillized  them  fully.  It  was  enough  that 
they  were  near  :  not  a  look,  —  not  a  word,  —  not 
a  gesture,  —  not  a  movement  was  needed  ;  —  noth- 
ing,—  but  to  be  together.  For  they  were  not  two 
human  beings  ;  they  were  one,  —  one,  lapped  in 
an  unconscious,  absolute  delight,  satisfied  with  it- 
self and  with  the  world.  Nay,  had  one  of  them 
been  forcibly  detained  at  a  remote  part  of  the 
house,  the  other  would  have  followed,  step  by  step, 
without  plan  or  premeditation.  To  them,  life  was 
a  riddle,  whose  solution  they  could  only  find  when 
they  were  together. 

Goethe.   ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 


Many  men  live  better  with  past  or  with  future 
ages  than  with  the  present. 

Novalis. 


In  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  on  the  pinna- 
cle of  victory,  of  strength,  and  of  pleasure,  man  is 
often  seized  by  a  profound  feeling  of  the  fleeting 
nothingness  of  this  state,  which  he  calls  his  life. 

Fred.  Schlegel. 


174 


THE  LAST  NIGHT  OF  THE  YEAR. 

In  a  sort  of  mental  death,  Firmian  seated  him- 
self in  the  old  chair,  and  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hands.  The  mist  was  now  withdrawn  from  the  fu- 
ture, and  discovered  a  long  arid  tract  covered  with 
the  traces  and  ashes  of  burnt-out  fires  ;  full  of  sear 
and  withered  bushes,  and  scattered  with  bones 
whitening  in  the  sand.  He  saw  that  the  chasm 
which  divided  his  heart  from  hers  would  become 
wider  and  wider  ;  — he  saw  it  distinctly  and  deso- 
lately ;  his  old,  beautiful  love  would  never  return. 
Lenette  would  never  lay  aside  her  obstinacy,  her 
sullenness,  her  habits  ;  the  narrow  enclosures  of 
her  heart  and  of  her  head  would  remain  impene- 
trably shut  ;  she  could  as  little  learn  to  understand 
him  as  to  love  him.  On  the  other  hand,  the  ab- 
sence of  his  friend  aggravated  the  bitterness  of  her 
coldness  ;  he  looked  mournfully  along  the  dreary 
vista  of  long  silent  days,  full  of  stifled  sighs  and 
mute  accusations. 

Lenette  sat  silently  at  work  in  the  chamber,  for 
her  wounded  heart  shrank  from  words  and  looks  as 
from  chill  and  cutting  winds.  It  was  already  very 
dark,  —  but  she  wanted  no  light. 

All  at  once  a  wandering  ballad-singer  with  a 
harp,  and  her  little  boy  with  a  flute,  began  to  play 
under  the  window. 

It  was  with  our  friends  as  if  their  swollen  and 


175 


tightened  hearts  received  a  thousand  punctures, 
and  then  gently  collapsed.  As  nightingales  sing 
sweetest  when1  there  is  an  echo,  so  do  our  hearts 
speak  most  audibly  where  music  is  around  them. 
O  !  as  the  many-stringed  tones  brought  back  to 
him  his  old  hopes,  —  hopes,  the  very  aspect  of 
which  he  could  scarcely  recognise  ;  as  he  looked 
down  into  the  Arcadia  now  lying  deep,  deep  be- 
neath the  stream  of  years,  and  saw  himself  there 
with  his  young  fresh  wishes,  his  long-lost  joys,  his 
glad  eyes  which  gazed  around  full  of  confidence, 
and  his  expanding  heart  which  husbanded  and  fos- 
tered all  its  love  and  truth  for  some  future  loving 
one  ;  and  as  he  now  cried  in  a  deep  inward  dis- 
cord, "And  such  an  one  have  I  not  found,  and  all 
is  over  ;  and  as  the  sounds  passed  like  the  shifting 
pictures  of  ga  meadows,  flowery  thickets  and  lov- 
ing groups  in  a  camera  obscura,  before  this  lonely 
one  who  had  nothing,  —  not  one  soul  in  this  land 
that  loved  him  ;  — his  firm  spirit  fell  prostrate  with- 
in him,  and  laid  itself  down  upon  the  earth  as  if  to 
its  eternal  rest,  —  and  now  nothing  had  power  to 
heal  or  to  soothe  it  but  its  own  sorrows. 

Suddenly  the  tones,  wandering  on  the  night- 
wind,  died  away,  and  the  pauses,  like  a  burial  in 
silence  and  darkness,  struck  deeper  into  the  heart. 
In  this  melodious  stillness  he  went  into  the  cham- 
ber, and  said  to  Lenette,  "  Take  this  trifle  down  to 
them."     But  he  could  only  falter  out  the  last 


176 


words,  for  in  the  light  reflected  from  the  opposite 
house,  he  saw  her  flushed  face  covered  with 
streaming  unregarded  tears  :  at  his  entrance  she 
had  affected  to  be  busied  in  wiping  off  the  mist 
which  her  warm  breath  had  left  upon  the  window- 
pane. 

He  said,  in  a  still  softer  tone,  "  Lenette,  take  it 
directly,  or  they  will  be  gone."  She  took  it  ;  her 
heavy  eyes  turned  away  as  they  met  his,  no  less 
tear-swollen  than  her  own,  yet  they  met  dry  and 
tearless,  —  so  severed,  so  estranged  were  their 
souls  already.  They  had  reached  that  wretched 
state  in  which  the  hour  of  common  emotion  no 
longer  reconciles  or  warms.  His  whole  breast 
swelled  with  a  torrent  of  love,  but  hers  no  longer 
belonged  to  him  ;  he  was  oppressed  at  the  same 
moment  by  the  wish  and  the  impossibility  of  loving 
her,  — by  the  certainty  of  the  barrenness  and  cold- 
ness of  her  nature.  He  seated  himself  in  a  win- 
dow recess,  and  leaned  down  his  head  and  touched, 
by  chance,  the  pocket  handkerchief  she  had  left. 
The  afflicted  creature,  after  the  long  constraint  of 
a  whole  day,  had  refreshed  herself  by  this  gentle 
overflowing,  —  as  a  hurt  by  pressure  is  relieved  by 
opening  a  vein. 

At  the  touch  of  the  handkerchief  a  cold  shudder 
ran  through  his  frame,  like  a  sting  of  conscience. 
And  now  the  voice  and  the  flute  without  the  harp 
were  heard  again,  and  flowed  on  together  in  a 


I 


177 

slow,  mournful  ditty,  every  verse  of  which  ended, 
"  Gone  is  gone,  dead  is  dead  !  "*  Grief  clasped 
him  round  like  the  mantle-fish  in  its  dark  stifling 
shroud.  He  pressed  Lenette's  tear-steeped  hand- 
kerchief hard  upon  his  eyeballs,  and  in  darkness 
he  felt,  "Gone  is  gone,  dead  is  dead!"  Then 
suddenly  his  whole  spirit  melted  within  him  at  the 
thought  that  his  throbbing  heart  would  perhaps  be 
at  rest  before  the  entrance  of  any  other  year  than 
that  which  was  to  break  upon  him  on  the  morrow  ; 
and  he  fancied  himself  departing,  and  the  cold 
handkerchief  lay  steeped  in  double  tears  on  his 
burning  face  ;  and  the  notes  marked  every  point 
of  time,  like  the  beats  of  a  clock,  and  he  felt, 
sensibly,  the  passage  and  motion  of  time,  and  he 
saw  himself  at  length  sleeping  in  the  quiet  grave. 

The  music  ceased.  He  heard  Lenette  go  into 
the  room  and  light  a  candle.  He  went  to  her  and 
gave  her  the  handkerchief.  But  his  inner  man 
was  so  bruised  and  bleeding  that  he  felt  as  if  he 
longed  to  embrace  any  outward  being,  —  be  it 
what  it  would.  He  felt  as  if  he  must  press,  if  not 
his  present,  yet  his  former,  —  if  not  his  loving, 
yet  his  suffering  Lenette  to  his  fainting,  famished 
heart.  But  he  neither  wished  nor  tried  to  utter 
the  word  love.  Slowly,  and  without  bending  down, 
he  folded  his  arms  around  her,  and  drew  her  to  his 
heart  ;  but  she  turned  her  head  coldly  and  abruptly 

*  See  Burger's  Leonore. 


178 


from  his  offered  kiss.  This  pained  him  acutely, 
and  he  said,  "Am  I  happier  than  thou  ?  "  and  he 
laid  his  face  down  on  her  averted  head,  and  pressed 
her  once  more  to  him,  and  then  released  her.  And 
as  the  vain  embrace  was  over,  his  whole  heart  ex- 
claimed, "  Gone  is  gone,  dead  is  dead  !  " 

As  he  laid  himself  down  to  rest,  he  thought,  the 
old  year  closes,  as  if  for  ever,  in  sleep  ;  out  of 
sleep  the  new  one  arises,  like  the  beginning  of 
existence,  and  I  slumber  over  a  fearful,  formless, 
thickly  shrouded  future.  Thus  do  we  go  to  sleep 
at  the  very  gateway  of  imprisoned  dreams,  and  we 
know  not,  although  our  dreams  lie  but  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a  few  minutes,  a  few  steps  from  the  gate, 
whether  when  they  issue  forth,  they  will  surround 
us  in  the  likeness  of  crouching,  glaring  beasts  of 
prey,  or  of  fair  children,  smiling  and  sporting  in 
their  little  sinless  night; — whether  we  ought  to 
strangle  or  to  embrace  the  compacted  air. 

Jean  Paul.  (Siebenkils.) 


Those  extraordinary  and  violent  measures  which, 
when  put  in  execution,  so  easily  become  atrocious, 
whether  they  spring  from  the  principle  of  liberty 
or  from  the  principle  of  absolutism,  are  invariably 
characterized  by  the  impossibility  of  arresting  their 
progress  :  —  crime  once  established  and  active, 
assumes  the  character  of  an  independent  power  ; 


179 


it  no  longer  depends  on  the  will  of  the  tyrant, 
whether  he  shall  be  a  tyrant  or  not  ;  an  invisible 
force,  like  an  inexorable  destiny,  hurries  him  for- 
ward. 

F.  Schlegel. 


EDUCATION   OF  WOMEN. 

"In  this  secluded  situation,"  said  the  mistress, 
"  I  have  been  obliged  to  dispense  entirely  with  the 
instruction  of  masters." 

"Perhaps,"  thought  I,  "because  they  some- 
times insinuate  themselves  into  the  good  graces 
of  their  unsuspecting  pupils." 

But  the  Domina,  who  read  this  suspicion  in  my 
eyes,  had  totally  other  reasons  in  her  mind. 

"No,"  said  she,  "that  excessive  anxiety  to 
keep  young  girls  from  the  flatteries  of  men  is  far 
more  dangerous  than  the  most  reprehensible  heed- 
lessness. It  is  as  if  one  were  to  rear  in  a  hot- 
house, plants  which  are  afterwards  to  be  exposed 
to  the  open  air.  As  the  vigorous  plant  can  resist 
the  assaults  of  the  weather,  so  a  sound  judgment, 
and  feelings  not  pampered  into  mawkish  sensibility, 
can  offer  a  steady  resistance  to  the  suggestions  of 
folly  or  vice." 

It  was,  therefore,  not  any  moral  timorousness 
which  determined  her  to  dispense  with  the  lessons 
of  masters,  but  the  superficiality  of  their  teaching, 


180 


and  the  entire  uselessness  of  most  of  the  so-called 
accomplishments,  the  only  tendency  of  which  is  to 
rob  young  women  of  valuable  time,  and  to  inspire 
them  with  ludicrous  and  tiresome  pretensions. 

"The  formation  of  the  moral  character,"  she 
continued,  "  is  the  main  thing  in  female  education, 
and  I  have  therefore  to  object  to  so-called  accom- 
plishments, that  they  afford  dangerous  food  to 
vanity  and  egotism.  But  my  chief  objection  to 
masters  is  their  superficiality.  If  one  finds  in  the 
world  a  half-honest  teacher  who  has  something  like 
a  profound  and  accurate  knowledge  of  language 
and  science,  he  will  not  devote  himself  to  the  in- 
struction of  women  ;  —  or,  if  wished  to  do  so, 
people  will  not  have  him.  The  pride  of  men  re- 
gards our  sex  as  unworthy  of  serious  and  profound 
studies.  But  how  does  this  determination  to  con- 
demn us  to  indistinctness  of  ideas  and  frivolity  of 
mind,  avenge  itself  on  them  !  Have  you  ever 
happened  to  be  a  witness  of  domestic  brawls  ?  — 
of  genuine  feminine  altercations  ?  Where  do  you 
hear  a  single  argument  ?  Where  is  a  particle  of 
reason  evinced  in  the  replies  ?  Senseless  contra- 
diction, endless  repetitions,  are,  to  the  despair  of 
all  belonging  to  them,  the  arguments  of  obstinate 
and  shrewish  women.  Whence  is  this,  if  it  does 
not  arise  from  the  superficiality  of  their  education  ? 
Believe  me,  if  women  were  taught  to  think,  reason 
would  not  be  so  entirely  thrown  away  upon  them. 


181 

"  This  tyrannical  denial  of  solid  instruction  re- 
coils, however,  in  various  ways  on  men,  with  whom 
it  originates.  For  the  nature  of  the  lot  they  draw 
when  they  marry,  depends  not  on  the  principles  of 
their  wives,  but  solely  on  their  temperament,  which 
it  is  very  difficult  to  ascertain  beforehand.  Now  a 
man  educates  even  his  domestic  animals  ;  he  will 
have  his  dog  intelligent,  his  horse  docile,  his  ox 
steady  ;  —  how  can  it  then  be  a  matter  of  such  in- 
difference to  him,  whether  his  wife,  in  the  conduct 
of  her  household,  in  the  early  education  of  his 
children,  in  the  intimate  conversation  of  domestic 
life,  displays  reason,  reflection,  and  clearness  of 
mind  ?  Married  people  want  to  talk  with  each 
other  in  a  reasonable  manner  on  various  subjects, 
and  of  these,  many  can  only  be  brought  to  any  con- 
clusion by  inferences  clearly  deduced  from  princi- 
ples. Now  talk  of  principles  with  women,  as  they 
are  generally  educated  ! 

"And  then  domestic  life,  —  what  resources  of 
happiness  might  it  afford  if  women  were  capable  of 
furnishing  more  food  to  the  conversation  of  in- 
structed men  !  Is  it  not  melancholy  to  see  that 
each  sex  has  its  own  separate  society  ?  Really,  as 
I  have  a  taste  for  whatever  is  decided,  I  should 
prefer  the  harem  of  the  Turks  to  these  assemblies 
of  both  sexes,  in  which  the  women  talk  scandal  in 
one  corner  and  the  men  politics  in  another  ;  —  as 
13 


182 


if  there  could  be  no  community  of  interests  or 
pleasures  between  them. 

"  These  things  would  arrange  themselves  nat- 
urally if  the  groundwork  were  put  upon  a  good 
footing.  In  order  to  accomplish  this,  I  have  de- 
vised a  new  system,  in  which  the  reason  is  con- 
stantly exercised.  You  will  not  deny,  that  without 
grammar  there  is  no  such  thing  as  logic.  Now  let 
any  one  try  to  teach  the  grammar  of  the  modern 
tongues  without  the  help  of  the  ancient.  My  young 
pupils  certainly  learned  the  most  colloquial  phrases 
of  French,  they  tortured  German  after  the  fashion 
of  our  part  of  the  country  ;  but  in  all  this  there  was 
no  precision,  clearness,  nor  coherence,  any  more 
than  in  the  books  which  we  are  forced  to  use  in 
education.  But  as  I  perceived  the  meaning  of 
what  learned  men  have  more  than  once  explained 
to  me,  as  to  the  causes  of  the  want  of  all  distinct- 
ness and  accuracy  in  women's  language,  I  es- 
teemed myself  fortunate  in  the  discovery  that  my 
excellent  assistant  is  a  schoolmaster's  daughter  and 
a  good  Latin  scholar.  To  avoid  frightening  my 
young  girls  with  leaining,  or  exciting  the  derision 
of  men,  I  gave  out  that  the  Latin  was  only  subsidi- 
ary to  music, —  for  this  too  we  study  fundamentally 
or  not  at  all,  and  therefore  we  sing  the  old  Corali 
with  the  Latin  text.  This  pretext  answers  very 
well  ;  and,  to  give  my  young  ladies  courage,  I  put 


183 


my  own  hand  to  the  work,  and  learned  my  musa, 
musce  like  the  least  of  them. 

"But  you  are  going  to  ask  what  I  mean  to  do  as 
to  Latin  books,  to  most  of  which  I  believe  some 
objections  may  justly  be  urged. 

"  I  answer,  that  the  important  matter  for  us 
women  is  not  so  much  to  read  Latin  books,  as  to 
learn  a  language  which  possesses  so  many  forms, 
so  much  certainty  and  precision." 

Rumohr.    (Deutsche  Denkwiirdigkeiten.) 


What  is  the  best  government  ?  That  which 
teaches  us  to  govern  ourselves. 

Goethe. 


WILHELM  V.   HUMBOLDT  AND  SCHILLER. 

Rome,  October  21d,  1803. 

 From  one  passage  in  your  letter,  my  dear 

friend,  it  appears  to  me  that  you  imagine  my  situa- 
tion different  from  what  it  really  is.  You  seem  to 
think  that  it  has  withdrawn  me  from  my  former 
accustomed  pursuits.  This  is  not  the  case  ;  the 
nature  of  my  post  here  gives  me  little  to  do  with 
politics.  If  I  have  hitherto  worked  but  little,  it  is 
because  Rome  is  itself  a  long  and  singular  study. 

I  do  not  despair  therefore,  —  nay,  I  confidently 
hope  to  be  as  industrious  in  my  scientific  pursuits 


184 


here  as  elsewhere,  and  at  least,  my  dear  friend,  be 
persuaded  that  my  tastes,  my  inclinations  can  never 
change.  The  standard  of  things  within  me  remains 
firm  and  unaltered  ;  the  highest  subjects  of  con- 
templation and  of  interest  are  and  must  ever  be  — 
ideas.  For  these  I  have  hitherto  lived,  to  these  I 
will  now  and  ever  remain  true  ;  and  had  I  a  sphere 
of  action  as  vast  as  that  of  him  who  now  virtually 
rules  over  Europe,  I  should  always  regard  it  as 
subordinate  to  that  higher  sphere.  I  will  not,  how- 
ever, deny  that  a  man  who  accepts  a  post  of  public 
business  sacrifices  something.  But  I  did  so  not 
without  deliberation.  For  some  years  I  had  not 
been  in  a  felicitous  state  of  mind  for  production  ;  I 
had  acquired  a  vast  variety  of  knowledge,  I  knew 
many  things  better  than  most  men,  and  yet  all  this 
did  not  combine  firmly  to  form  any  result,  and  I 
could  by  no  means  be  satisfied  with  the  active  part 
of  my  existence.  It  appeared  to  me,  therefore, 
better  to  give  to  my  activity  a  determinate,  even 
though  an  ordinary  course,  and  I  only  sought  for 
one  which  might  lead  me  to  some  interesting  place 
of  abode.  And  I  think  I  have  not  miscalculated. 
Rome  has  already  had  an  awakening,  animating 
effect  on  me,  and  I  feel  greater  fertility  of  mind 
than  before  I  came. 

These  are  confessions,  dear  friend,  which  I  am 
always  ready  to  make  to  you,  yet  which  I  should 
not  have  made  but  for  a  passage  in  your  letter. 


185 


For  even  to  the  most  intimate  friend  I  do  not  wil- 
lingly speak  of  myself,  since  it  is  so  much  easier  to 
judge  obliquely  of  one's  self  than  of  another.  Con- 
tinue, kind  and  dear  friend,  to  be  to  me  what  you 
are  ;  and  be  assured,  that  whatever  distance  may 
separate  us,  my  interest  is  ever  near  you,  and  that 
the  slightest  pursuit  of  yours  is  more  important  in 
my  eyes  than  all  that  I  shall  ever  have  power  to 
attempt. 

For,  —  I  must  close  as  I  began, — you  are  the 
happiest  of  men  ;  you  have  grasped  the  highest, 
and  you  have  strength  to  hold  it  fast.  It  is  become 
your  region  ;  and  not  only  has  ordinary  life  no 
power  to  trouble  you  in  it,  but  you  bring  down  from 
that  empyrean  a  kindness,  a  gentleness,  a  clear- 
ness, and  a  warmth  into  this  lower  world,  which 
renders  it  impossible  to  mistake  your  descent.  For 
you,  one  has  nothing  to  pray  for  but  life.  Strength 
and  youth  are  yours  beyond  the  power  of  change. 

Wilhelm  v.  Humboldt. 

(answer.) 

Weimar,  April  2d,  1805. 

 In  spite  of  the  time  which  has  passed  since  I 

sent  you  even  a  line,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  our  spirits 
had  always  been  together,  and  it  rejoices  me  to 
think  that  I  can  throw  myself  on  your  heart  with 
the  same  confidence  after  this  long  silence  as  I  did 
when  we  lived  together.    For  our  union  there  is 


186 

no  time  and  no  space.  Your  sphere  of  action  can- 
not so  distract  you,  and  mine  cannot  render  me  so 
one-sided  and  narrow,  that  we  should  cease  to  meet 
in  the  region  of  the  noble  and  the  true.  And, 
come  what  may,  we  are  both  of  us  idealists,  and 
should  be  ashamed  to  allow  it  to  be  said  of  us, 
that  circumstances  formed  us,  and  not  we  circum- 
stances. 

You  know  that,  during  the  long  period  of  inter- 
ruption to  our  correspondence,  I  have  been  busy 
after  my  fashion.  I  wish  to  hear  from  yourself  how 
you  like  my  Tell,  —  a  justifiable  wish,  for  whatever 
I  do,  I  think  how  it  will  please  you.  You  are  still, 
to  my  thoughts,  the  counsellor  and  the  judge  you 
so  often  were  ;  and  whenever  I  endeavour  to  get 
out  of  my  subject,  and  put  myself  in  the  place  of  a 
critic  of  my  own  works,  it  is  in  your  person  and  in 
your  spirit  that  I  wish  to  do  so. 

In  my  poetical  labors  I  hope  I  have  not  gone 
back,  —  sidewards,  perhaps  I  have,  —  for  I  may 
perhaps  have  conceded  something  to  the  material 
demands  of  the  world  and  the  age.  The  dramatic 
poet  is  more  readily  hurried  along  by  the  stream  of 
the  time  than  any  other.  He  comes,  even  against 
his  will,  into  contact  in  various  ways  with  the  mass, 
and  then  it  is  impossible  to  escape  some  contamina- 
tion. At  first  it  gratifies  one  to  play  the  ruler  of 
spirits  ;  but  what  ruler  does  not  find  himself  com- 
pelled to  become  the  servant  of  his  servants,  in 


187 


order  to  preserve  his  sovereignty  ?  And  so  it  may 
easily  have  happened,  that  while  I  filled  the  Ger- 
man stage  with  the  noise  of  my  tragedies,  I  have 
caught  something  from  that  stage  in  return. 

I  embrace  you  a  thousand  times,  my  dear  friend, 
and  wish  that  this  letter  may  bring  me  before  you 
exactly  such  as  you  knew  me  formerly. 

Schiller.  ( Brief weclisel.) 


Origen  says  that  his  contemporaries  believed 
warm  springs  to  be  fed  by  the  hot  tears  of  fallen 
angels. 

Goethe. 


When  the  heart  of  man  is  serene  and  tranquil, 
he  wants  to  enjoy  nothing  but  himself ;  every 
movement, — even  corporeal  movement,  —  shakes 
the  brimming  nectar-cup  too  rudely. 

Jean  Paul.  (Titan.) 


There  were  once  some  birds  who  lived  in  a  spa- 
cious aviary.  A  bullfinch  said  to  his  neighbour  the 
goldfinch,  who  was  gayly  fluttering  from  bush  to 
bush,  "  Do  you  know,  friend,  that  we  are  shut  up 
in  a  cage  ?  "  "  What  do  you  talk  of  a  cage  ?  " 
said  the  goldfinch  ;  "  see  how  we  fly  about  !  That 
is  a  cage  indeed  in  which  my  neighbour  canary  is 


188 


sitting."  "But  I  tell  you  we  are  in  a  cage  too. 
Don't  you  see  there,  the  wire  grating  ?  "  "  Yes,  I 
see  one  there,  certainly  ;  but  look,  as  far  as  I  can 
see  on  every  side  there  is  none."  "You  cannot 
see  to  all  sides."  "No  more  can  you."  "But 
consider  then,"  continued  the  bullfinch,  "  does  not 
our  master  bring  us  water  every  morning,  and  put 
it  in  our  trough,  and  strew  seed  on  the  ground  ? 
Would  he  do  that  if  he  did  not  know  that  we  are 
shut  up  and  cannot  fly  where  we  will  ?  "  "  But," 
said  the  goldfinch,  "  I  tell  you  I  can  fly  where  I 
will." 

Thus  they  disputed  for  a  long  time,  till  at  length 
the  canary  called  out  from  his  corner,  "  Children, 
if  you  cannot  settle  it  whether  you  are  in  a  cage  or 
not,  it  's  just  as  good  as  if  you  were  not  in  one." 

Goethe. 


The  system  of  freewill  satisfies,  the  contrary 
deadens  and  annihilates  my  heart.  To  stand  by, 
cold  and  dead,  a  mere  spectator  of  the  change  of 
events,  an  idle  mirror  of  the  forms  which  fleet 
across  its  surface,  —  such  an  existence  is  intolera- 
ble to  me.  I  despise  and  loathe  it.  I  will  love,  I 
will  lose  myself  in  sympathy,  I  will  rejoice  and  be 
sad.  The  highest  object  of  this  sympathy  to  me,  is 
myself,  and  the  only  means  by  which  I  can  perpetu- 
ally satisfy  it  are  my  actions.    I  will  do  my  best  in 


1S9 


all  things.  I  will  rejoice  when  I  have  acted  aright  ; 
I  will  lament  over  myself  when  I  have  done  wrong  ; 
and  even  this  sorrow  shall  be  sweet  to  me,  for  it 
is  sympathy  with  myself,  and  a  pledge  of  future 
amendment. 

Fichte.    (Bestimmung  des  Menschen.) 


To  regard  a  whole  people  and  a  whole  country 
only  as  a  source  of  amusement  for  one's  self,  —  to 
see  nothing  in  the  world  and  nature  but  a  vast  and 
varying  scenery  and  decoration  for  the  drama  of 
one's  own  miserable  life,  — to  look  on  all  intellec- 
tual and  moral  greatness,  on  all  that  speaks  to  the 
heart,  with  the  polished  indifference  of  a  mere 
spectator,  or,  when  it  is  crushed  and  overpowered 
by  folly  and  baseness,  to  make  merry  with  the  lu- 
dicrous side  which  these  present,  — to  me  this  is 
revolting  ;  —  perhaps  more  so  to  me  individually 
than  I  can  expect  it  to  be  to  others  ;  but  the  spirit 
which  it  betrays  I  can  tolerate  in  no  man.  I  know 
very  well  that  I  go  into  the  other  extreme  ;  that 
my  politico-historical  taste  is  satisfied  with  what 
would  have  no  interest  for  the  merely  curious  ob- 
server ;  and  that  not  only  in  the  divine  Tyrol,  but 
on  moor  or  heath,  I  could  live  happy,  and  feel  no 
want  of  the  arts,  among  a  free  peasantry  who  had 
a  history.    But  the  truth,  though  it  certainly  lies 


190 


between  two  extremes,  d"es  not  always  lie  in  the 
middle. 

 I  maintain  too  that  there  can  be  no  such 

thing  as  a  genuine  and  unerring  sentiment  for  art 
without  that  for  history,  —  for  the  arts  have  no 
separate  existence  ;  that  the  feeling  for  historical 
truth  will  reveal  itself  where  it  really  exists,  with- 
out any  erudition,  —  as,  for  example,  in  our  paint- 
er Cornelius  ;  that  even  Carlo  Maratta,  —  nay 
more,  even  Mengs,  —  is  not  without  relative  beau- 
ties which  correspond  to  the  times  in  which  they 
lived, — only  that  those  times  are  utterly  worth- 
less, and  the  works  they  produced  belong  to  an 
absolutely  bad  whole. 

Were  I  but  "  qualis  Praeneste  sub  alta,"  I  would 
write  much  more  at  length  on  this  subject. 

B.  G.  Niebnhr.  (Lebensnachrichten.) 


 "  Dream  out  your  lovely  dream,"  said  An- 
tony ;  "  intoxicate  yourself  with  your  happiness, 
for  you  belong  not  now  to  the  earth  :  hereafter  we 
shall  find  each  other  again  ;  for,  sooner  or  later, 
poor  man  must  awake  and  become  sober." 

"  No,  my  dear,  timorous-hearted  friend,"  ex- 
claimed Frederic,  with  sudden  animation,  "  suffer 
not  yourself  to  be  persuaded  by  the  prate  of  this 
shallow,  pretended  wisdom,  for  it  is  despair  itself. 
Can  that  love  die  which  now  shines  in  the  deepest 


191 


depth  of  my  existence,  and  enlightens  the  darkest 
chambers  and  all  the  strange  treasures  of  my 
heart  ?  It  is  not  the  beauty  alone  of  my  beloved 
that  transports  me  ;  it  is  not  alone  her  gentle  en- 
gaging character,  but,  above  all,  her  love  ;  and 
this  my  love,  which  goes  forth  to  meet  her,  is  my 
most  holy  and  imperishable  will,  —  my  soul  itself, 
which  in  this  feeling  breaks  loose  from  the  bonds 
of  darkening  matter.  In  this  love,  I  see  and  feel 
faith  and  immortality,  nay,  even  the  Nameless 
himself  and  all  the  wonders  of  his  manifestation,  in 
the  very  centre  of  my  being.  Beauty  may  fade 
and  vanish  ;  it  only  goes  before  us,  thither  where 
we  shall  find  it  again  ;  but  faith  abides  with  us. 
O  !  my  brother,  Isalda  and  Syguna  are,  as  men 
say,  long  since  dead  :  you  smile,  —  well,  they  nev- 
er existed  ;  —  but  the  race  of  man  lives  on  ;  and 
every  spring,  and  every  love,  kindles  anew  the  ce- 
lestial fire  ;  and  therefore  in  all  ages  have  the  ho- 
liest tears  been  shed  for  the  most  beautiful,  which 
in  appearance  only  has  withdrawn  itself  from  us, 
and  still  looks  forth  and  smiles  upon  us  (calling  up 
some  dim  and  secret  recollections)  out  of  the  eyes 
of  children,  out  of  the  lips  of  young  virgins,  out  of 
the  flowers  and  brooks  ;  and  therefore  is  that  po- 
etical fiction  undying.  In  this  holy  state  did  I  first 
find  myself ;  and  I  must  lose  myself  again,  I  must 
be  annihilated,  if  this  rapture  can  at  any  time,  die. 

Tieck.  (Phanlasus.) 


192 


We  may  try  to  fancy  ourselves  as  we  will  ;  we 
think  of  ourselves  always  as  seeing.  I  think  we 
dream  only  that  we  may  not  cease  to  see.  Is  it 
not  possible  that  the  inward  light  may  in  time 
break  forth,  so  that  we  should  no  longer  stand  in 
need  of  the  outer  ? 

Goethe.  ( Wahlverwandtschaften.) 


ANCIENT  FORM  OF   HOMAGE  IN  CARINTHIA. 

When  a  new  lord  of  Austria  comes  to  reign,  the 
Carinthians  have  the  following  customs. 

There  is  a  block  of  marble  set  up  in  the  toll-field 
not  far  from  the  town  of  St.  Veit  ;  upon  this  stands 
a  peasant,  one  of  the  race  called  the  Edlinger,  or 
noble,  to  whom  belongs  the  office  of  hereditary 
right,  and  around  him  stand  the  people  and  the 
whole  peasantry. 

And  then  comes  the  prince  towards  him  with  all 
his  nobles  ;  these  are  richly  clad,  and  carry  a  ban- 
ner on  which  are  the  prince's  arms.  But  the  count 
of  Gortz  goes  foremost  between  two  small  banners, 
and  the  rest  of  the  nobles  follow  after,  richly  and 
bravely  adorned,  —  only  the  prince  comes  in  the 
fashion  of  a  peasant,  with  a  peasant's  coat,  shoes 
and  hat,  and  a  shepherd's  staff  in  his  hand,  and 
with  him  come  an  ox  and  a  plough-horse.  And  as 
soon  as  the  peasant  on  the  marble  seat  sees  the 
prince,  he  calls  out  in  the  Wendish  language  and 


193 


says,  "  Who  is  he  that  comes  hither  with  such  high 
and  stately  bearing  ?  "  Then  answer  the  people 
around,  "The  prince  of  the  land  conies."  Then 
says  the  peasant,  "Is  he  an  upright  judge,  and  a 
lover  of  the  welfare  of  our  land,  and  of  our  free 
customs  ?  Is  he  also  a  defender  of  the  Christian 
faith  ?  "  Then  they  answer,  "Yes,  such  he  is  and 
will  be  !  "  Then  must  the  prince  promise  him 
these  two  things  by  his  faith  and  honor  ;  that  he 
will  maintain  justice,  and  for  that  cause,  if  need  be, 
become  so  poor  that  he  must  support  himself  by 
means  of  these  cattle,  the  ox  and  the  plough-horse. 
Thereupon  asks  the  peasant  again,  "  How,  and  by 
what  right  will  he  move  me  from  this  seat  ?  "  Then 
answers  the  lord  of  Gortz,  "  He  will  buy  thee  away 
from  thence  with  sixty  pfennigs  ;  the  two  chief 
among  cattle,  the  ox  and  the  horse,  shall  be  thine, 
and  thou  shalt  take  the  prince's  garment,  and  thy 
house  shall  be  free  and  untaxed." 

Upon  that  the  peasant  gives  the  prince  a  light  pat 
on  the  cheek,  and  bids  him  that  he  be  an  upright 
judge.  Therewith  he  arises  and  drives  his  cattle 
away  with  him,  and  the  prince  steps  up  on  the 
stone  with  a  naked  sword,  turns  himself  round,  and 
promises  the  people  good  and  equal  justice.  After 
this  the  prince  goes  to  St.  Peter's  church,  which 
stands  hard  by  upon  a  hill,  and,  after  God's  wor- 
ship, he  takes  off  his  peasant's  clothing,  puts  on  the 
princely  raiment  and  ornaments,  holds  a  feast  with 


194 


his  nobles  and  knights,  and  then  rides  back  into 
the  field,  seats  himself  in  a  chair  of  judgment,  and 
allows  each  and  every  one  of  the  people  to  come  to 
him,  that  he  may  hear  and  allow  claims,  grant  fiefs, 
and  the  like.  The  lord  of  Gortz  seats  himself  be- 
hind the  prince  as  hereditary  count  palatine  of  Ca- 
rinthia,  and  also  makes  such  grants  as  lie  within 
his  competence  and  jurisdiction.  The  lord  mar- 
shal takes  the  duke's  horse,  the  lord  high  butler 
the  golden  cup,  and  the  lord  high  sewer  the  silver 
dish.  And  as  long  as  the  prince  sits  on  the  chair 
of  state  and  hears  petitions,  the  Gradnecker  have 
from  old  times  the  right  and  power  to  take  posses- 
sion of  as  much  hay  as  they  can  m<  w  within  the 
time,  and  this  the  owners  must  redeem  from  them 
as  they  can. 

These  privileges  and  customs  were  maintained 
by  king  Ottocar  of  Bohemia,  by  count  Meinhard  of 
Tyrol,  by  all  his  sons,  and  by  duke  Ernest  of  Au- 
stria, emperor  Frederic's  father,  in  1423.  Empe- 
ror Frederic  would  not  take  his  seat  or  give  audi- 
ence on  the  chair  of  state,  by  reason  of  his  being 
emperor  ;  but  he  gave  a  writing,  sealed  with  his 
own  seal,  to  the  country,  that  their  privileges  and 
usages  should  not  thereby  suffer  any  detriment. 
Emperor  Henry  the  Holy  was  he  who  established 
these  ceremonies. 

Miinster's  Kosmographie. 


195 


VIENNA. 

Saturday,  immediately  after  my  arrival,  I  went 
to  the  theatre  at  the  Karnther  Thor  (Carinthian 
gate)  ;  the  opera  was  Rossini's  "Otello," —  new, 
brilliant  music,  which  I  now  heard  well  got  up  and 
executed  for  the  first  time.  The  composer  did  not 
trouble  himself  about  Shakspeare,  but  has  set  to 
music  a  poem  which  one  can  manage  to  connect 
together  by  means  of  that  music.  He  is  unques- 
tionably a  man  of  genius,  and  knows  how  to  use 
the  means  he  has  at  hand,  without,  like  Gluck, 
first  setting  to  work  to  invent  instruments  to  play 
his  music.  Rossini  has  crescendos  that  reach  even 
to  grandeur  ;  he  gives  himself  the  rein,  and  at  last 
the  thought  comes  out  with  great  success.  He 
plays  with  sounds,  and  sounds  play  with  him. 

Sunday,  in  the  Marinelli  theatre :  there  were 
three  pieces,  — first  "  Die  Werber;"  second  "  Die 
Damenhiite  im  Theater;"  and  third,  a  pantomime, 
"  Schulmeister  Beysirich,  oder  das  Donnenvelter ." 
My  sides  are  still  sore  with  laughing.  The  pieces 
were  somewhat  of  the  vulgar  sort ;  the  actors  and 
the  people  together  are  what  constitute  the  per- 
formance. The  slightest  success  finds  loud  ap- 
plause, and  what  won't  succeed  is  scrambled  over. 
The  players  are  in  continual  motion  and  enjoy  as 
much  as  the  audience,  and  more.  Such  a  gypsy 
frolic  is  not  to  be  described  ;  the  children  begin  to 


196 

screech  and  clap,  and  all  join  in  and  screech  and 
clap  too.  After  the  piece,  everybody  that  has  a 
leg  to  stand  on  is  called  for  ;  meanwhile  a  fresh 
piece  begins  ;  the  players  make  their  obeisances 
and  thanks  while  they  go  on  with  their  parts,  and 
openly  appear  in  their  individual,  proper  persons. 
The  theatre  is  always  full  ;  if  not  at  first,  certainly 
toward  the  end,  when  everyboby  leaves  the  Prater. 

The  first  comic  actor  is  called  Signor  Schuster, 
—  a  man  made  expressly  for  his  art,  from  head  to 
heel.  In  this  fellow  there  is  not  a  word  that  does 
not  tell  ;  a  voice  as  broad  as  a  plank,  as  sharp  as 
vinegar,  and  as  smooth  as  an  eel. 

It  is  easily  seen  here  why  these  people  are  not 
political  ;  what  they  want  is,  to  live  every  minute 
and  to  enjoy  every  minute,  —  and  that  they  do. 
Politics  begin  in  ennui,  and  in  ennui  they  end. 
From  the  theatre  they  go  to  supper,  —  next  morn- 
ing to  mass,  —  then  to  work,  every  man  his  own 
way,  —  then  out  of  one  play  into  another.  Wiser 
they  will  never  be,  and  never  were. 

#  #  #  #  # 

The  Prater  is  a  pleasure-garden  ;  —  indeed,  this 
whole  land  is  a  pleasure-garden  :  they  tell  me  it  is 
not  what  it  was,  —  and  what  was  it  then  ?  A  for- 
eigner brings  with  him  no  senses  nor  understand- 
ing for  such  views  of  things,  and  I  am  glad  when  I 
can  shake  off  the  Berliner.       *       *  * 

Mondaij,  July  26//i.  —  Yesterday,  I  saw  the  Pra- 


197 


ter  in  its  Sunday  glory.  Four  rows  of  the  finest 
chestnut  trees  form  three  avenues,  which  begin 
from  the  Leopold-stadt  and  lead  along  the  side  of 
the  Danube  a  league  and  a  half.  The  middle  one, 
for  carriages,  is  forty-five  feet  wide  ;  the  two  sides, 
for  walkers,  are  twenty-four  feet.  You  see  several 
hundred  equipages,  some  of  them  extremely  splen- 
did, and  fiacres,  all  in  motion  in  the  centre  ;  and 
at  the  sides  groups,  couples,  or  solitary  walkers  in 
such  pretty  confusion,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see 
so  many  handsome,  well-dressed  men  and  women, 
with  the  greatest  variety  of  character  and  counte- 
nance, flitting  by  you  like  colored  shadows.  At  the 
sides  are  coffee-houses  and  seats  under  the  shade 
of  the  most  beautiful  clumps  of  trees,  all  exquisitely 
neat  and  clean.  You  sit  down.  Out  of  the  thicket 
behind  you  comes  the  sound  of  music.  You  are 
now  at  the  opera,  —  now  at  a  ball,  —  now  on  the 
parade.  Coffee  comes,  and  cakes  with  it.  A  child 
presents  flowers  ;  a  pretty  girl  offers  crystal  water; 
an  old  woman  toothpicks  :  all  these  are  fee'd  with 
copper  kreuzers,  which  you  are  glad  to  get  rid  of 
in  so  pleasant  a  way,  for  they  are  as  heavy  as  a 
bad  conscience,  and  weigh  your  pockets  down  to 
your  heels. 

But  these  avenues  by  no  means  constitute  the 
whole  Prater.    A  second  and  a  third  of  the  same 
kind  extend  like  a  fan,  from  the  Leopold-stadt  to 
the  Danube  (it  is  properly  an  arm  of  the  Danube). 
14 


198 


Here  is  the  other  pole  of  the  planet  ;  —  here  is  the 
real  genuine  people.  The  spaces  between  the 
trees  grow  wider  as  they  approach  the  river,  and  are 
filled  with  places  of  refreshment,  where  beer,  wine, 
eatables  and  (except  coffee)  drinkables  of  all  sorts, 
ice,  &c.  may  be  had.  (The  three  coffee  houses, 
par  excellence,  in  the  grand  avenue  have  the  exclu- 
sive privilege  of  selling  coffee.)  These  places  of 
refreshment  are  in  such  number  and  so  near  to- 
gether, that  you  cannot  distinguish  the  customers 
of  one  host  from  those  of  another,  and  you  run  a 
risk  of  eating  what  your  neighbour  has  paid  for. 

This,  then,  is  the  true  Vienna.  Here,  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  serving,  and  sitting,  and  pouring, 
and  smoking,  and  carousing,  and  fiddling,  the  uni- 
versal stream  and  movement  flow  gayly  and  com- 
fortably on.  People  go  or  stay,  come,  speak  to 
one  another,  —  it  is  unbroken  quiet  and  ceaseless 
motion  at  the  same  time.  No  enclosures,  no  im- 
pediments ;  for  though  the  houses  are  the  prop- 
erty of  the  inhabitants,  the  ground  is  the  Emperor's 
and  nobody  may  enclose  it.  The  impression  made 
by  this  moving  scene,  —  tumult  I  can't  call  it,  — 
is  an  easy,  gentle  forgetfulness.  I  could  not  recol- 
lect what  I  had  thought  or  observed  ;  and  though  I 
write  all  this,  I  can  hardly  affirm,  so  it  is,  —  so  it 
was.  What  makes  the  thing  a  real  sunshine,  is  the 
multitude  of  happy  faces  of  every  kind,  which, 


199 

to-day  reconciled  with  their  Maker,  see  the  world 
as  they  wish  to  see  it. 

Zelter.  {Brief weclisel  mit  Goethe.) 


When  princes  weep,  their  people  bleed.  Rulers 
should  remember  that  tears  are  more  easily  staunch- 
ed than  wounds. 

Jean  Paul. 


The  affections  and  the  will  know  nothing  of  a 
future;  the  mind, — the  judgment, — calls  it  up 
and  gives  it  the  force  and  life  of  the  present.  The 
mind  alone  is  free,  self-acting,  and  directed  toward 
the  unknown  ;  the  heart  is  bound  to  what  is  be- 
fore it. 

Rahel. 


In  busy,  troublous  times,  amid  the  eagerness  of 
pursuit  and  the  storm  of  conflicting  passions,  the 
bright  stars  of  supermundane  hopes  are  veiled  from 
sight,  —  as  the  starry  firmament  is  hidden  from  us 
by  the  glare  of  day.  It  is  in  peace  and  in  silence 
alone  that  Religion,  that  gentle  divinity,  opens  her 
lips  and  her  heart.  This  comforter  and  guardian 
angel  of  the  unhappy  must  now  herself  seek  refuge 
with  the  unhappy. 

To  thy  heart,  which  she  has  so  often  refreshed 
and  soothed,  thou  patient  sex  !  does  she  now  lie 


200 


closely  pressed  ;  and  as  the  drawn  swords,  and 
glaring  eyes,  and  blood-stained  hands  of  men,  and 
the  whole  long  storm  of  the  times,  sweep  by  before 
thy  solitude,  thy  immortal  guest  weeps  and  con- 
doles with  thee,  and  ye  cling  more  closely  to  each 
other. 

Jean  Paul.  (Palingenesien.) 


BOOKS  FOR  THE  PEOPLE. 

<c  How  can  you  women,"  continued  Manfred 
with  great  vehemence,  "  endure  to  have  your  ma- 
ternal affection,  your  love,  your  tender  devoted- 
ness,  your  conjugal  virtues,  your  chastity,  stuck 
up  or  hawked  about  like  bad  pictures  ?  For  that 
is  the  plain  truth,  however  these  gentlemen  may 
affect  to  exalt  and  glorify  your  '  vocation.'  And 
look  at  the  novels  ! 

"  I  will  suffer  no  '  Book  for  Mothers,'  or  c  Book 
for  Wives,'  or  '  Whole  Duties  of  Woman,'  or  any 
trash  of  that  kind,  engendered  by  the  absurdity  of 
our  views,  and  nurtured  by  the  vanity  of  the  age, 
to  come  into  my  house.  And  the  very  people  who 
write  and  praise  this  really  immoral  stuff,  are  those 
who  want  to  take  from  the  working  man  his  Sieg- 
fried, his  Octavian,  and  his  Eulenspiegel,  that  the 
morals  of  the  lower  classes  may  not  be  corrupted  ! 
Can  there  be  any  thing  sillier  or  more  preposter- 
ous ?  " 

Tieck.  (Phardasus.) 


201 


ARCHITECTURE. 

I  am  extremely  struck  with  what  you  say  of  ar- 
chitecture. It  appears  to  me,  however,  that  this 
art,  unlike  all  others,  contains  something  in  its  na- 
ture which  prevents  it  from  being,  properly  speak- 
ing, Art,  —  or  any  thing  more  than  decoration  in 
the  highest  sense  of  the  word.  Architecture  alone, 
of  all  the  arts,  has  no  subject  furnished  by  nature. 
To  what  end  the  most  beautiful  building,  if  it  were 
not  for  use  ?  In  whatever  way  you  consider  it, 
the  idea  of  utility,  in  the  most  extensive  sense,  is 
inseparable  from  this  art  ;  yet  this  is  an  idea  utter- 
ly at  variance  with  art. 

On  the  other  hand,  buildings  give  a  pleasure 
which  we  should  seek  elsewhere  in  vain.  As  co- 
lossal works  of  man,  the  enormous  mass  of  which 
is  invested  with  a  beautiful  and  intelligible  form, 
they  stand  midway  between  the  productions  of  na- 
ture,—  mountains,  rocks,  &c,  and  the  mere  off- 
spring of  the  human  fancy, — statues,  and  com- 
bine the  advantages  of  both.  Even  the  idea  of 
utility,  which  instantly  attracts  men,  perhaps  con- 
spires to  produce  this  result.  So  mixed,  it  appears 
to  me,  is  the  common  impression  which  a  building 
makes.  The  artistical  impression  is,  indeed,  very 
different  ;  but  even  this  cannot  be  perfectly  pure  ; 
and  the  question  remains,  whether  architecture  is 
to  be  treated  as  a  perfectly  pure  art,  and  utility  to 


202 


be  sacrificed.  Hardly,  I  think.  The  utmost  it  can 
attain  to  is,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the  aesthetic  treat- 
ment of  a  subject  belonging  to  a  totally  different 
domain.  This  however  applies  only  to  ornamental 
architecture. 

Wilhelmv.  Humboldt.    ( Brief wechsel  mit  Schiller.) 


SICILY. 

Palermo,  Monday,  April  2d,  1787. 

At  length,  with  great  exertion,  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  we  got  into  the  harbour,  where 
the  most  lovely  and  enchanting  view  mef  our  eyes. 
The  city  lying  to  the  north,  at  the  foot  of  a  high 
mountain,  beneath  a  sun  just  past  its  meridian  lus- 
tre ;  the  side  of  the  buildings  opposite  to  us  in 
shadow,  clearly  defined  and  illumined  by  the  re- 
flected lights.  On  the  right,  Monte  Pellegrino, 
with  its  graceful  forms,  in  the  most  intense  light  ; 
on  the  left,  the  wide,  outstretched  shore,  with  its 
bays,  promontories  and  headlands.  What  further 
gave  the  most  delicious  character  to  the  scene, 
was  the  young  green  of  the  graceful  trees,  whose 
tops,  lit  up  from  behind,  waved  to  and  fro,  spark- 
ling over  a  background  of  dark  gray  buildings,  like 
large  clusters  of  vegetable  glow-worms.  A  trans- 
parent atmosphere  gave  a  blue  tone  to  all  the  shad- 
ows. 

Instead  of  hastening  impatiently  on  shore,  we 


203 


remained  on  deck  till  we  were  driven  from  it  ! 
where  could  we  have  found  such  a  point  of  view  ? 
when  could  we  have  hoped  again  for  so  favorable 
a  moment  ? 

We  were  conducted  into  the  city  through  its 
wonderful  gates,  supported  by  two  enormous  door- 
posts, which  are  left  open  at  the  top,  to  let  the 
tower-like  car  of  Santa  Rosalia  pass  through  on 
the  day  of  her  celebrated  festival.  We  were  then 
conducted  to  the  inn,  which  lay  on  our  left.  The 
host,  a  hearty,  cheerful  old  man,  accustomed  to 
see  strangers  of  all  nations,  led  us  into  a  large 
room,  from  the  balcony  of  which  we  looked  over 
the  sea,  the  strait,  the  mountain  of  Santa  Rosalia, 
and  the  shore  :  we  could  distinguish  our  vessel, 
and  judge  of  the  position  from  which  we  first  be- 
held Palermo. 

We  were  so  delighted  with  the  situation  of  our 
room  that  we  scarcely  remarked  a  raised  alcove, 
concealed  by  curtains,  at  one  end  of  it.  In  it 
stood  a  most  spacious  bed,  decorated  with  a  splen- 
did silken  canopy,  with  which  the  remains  of  a 
somewhat  antiquated,  but  magnificent  furniture, 
fully  corresponded.  The  sight  of  such  a  state- 
chamber  rather  startled  us,  and  we  thought  it  de- 
sirable to  make  some  preliminary  conditions.  The 
old  man  replied  that  no  conditions  were  necessary, 
—  that  he  only  wished  we  might  be  satisfied  with 
our  reception  ;  and  that  we  might  also  have  the 


204 


use  of  the  anti-room.  This  was  a  cool,  airy  room, 
enlivened  by  several  balconies,  and  immediately 
adjoining  our  apartment. 

We  enjoyed  the  infinitely  varied  prospect,  and 
sought  to  sever  and  dissect  it  into  parts  suited  to 
the  draughtsman  or  the  painter  ;  for  we  saw  before 
us  a  boundless  harvest  for  every  variety  of  art.  In 
the  evening  the  bright  moonlight  allured  us  out 
again  to  the  straits,  and  after  our  return,  still  de- 
tained us  for  a  long  while  lingering  on  the  balco- 
ny. The  light  was  most  extraordinary,  —  there- 
pose  most  profound  and  delicious. 

Palermo,  April  3d,  1787. 

A  few  more  words,  after  reflection  and  an  at- 
tempt to  collect  these  scattered  images  

We  sailed  on  the  29th  of  March,  at  sunset,  from 
Naples,  and  landed  at  three  o'clock  on  the  2nd  of 
April  at  Palermo.  I  never  felt  such  tranquillity 
when  travelling,  —  even  in  my  narrow  bed,  to 
which  I  was  confined  by  violent  sickness.  Now 
my  thoughts  wander  silently  back  to  you.  If  any 
thing  was  ever  eventful,  decisive  in  my  life,  it  is 
this  journey. 

A  man  who  has  never  looked  out  upon  an  un- 
broken horizon  of  sea,  has  no  conception  of  the 
world,  and  of  his  own  connexion  with  the  world. 
As  a  landscape  painter,  this  vast,  simple  line  awa- 
kened in  me  a  completely  new  train  of  thoughts. 

In  this  short  voyage  we  have  had  many  vicissi- 


205 


tudes,  and  have  experienced  the  fate  of  sailors  on  a 
small  scale. 

No  words  can  express  the  aerial  brilliancy  which 
floated  around  the  coasts,  as,  on  the  loveliest  after- 
noon, we  approached  Palermo.  The  clearness  of 
contour,  the  softness  of  the  whole,  the  tender  blend- 
ing of  tones,  the  harmony  of  heaven,  earth,  and 
sea,  —  he  who  has  once  seen  it  possesses  it  for  life. 
Now  I  understand  Claude  Lorraine,  and  have  some 
hope,  even  in  my  northern  home,  of  being  able  to 
bring  before  my  mind  some  faint  shadowy  images 
of  this  delicious  abode.  Were  but  every  thing 
mean  effaced  from  it  as  completely  as  the  meanness 
of  our  thatch-roofed  hovels  from  my  pictorial  con- 
ceptions !  We  shall  see  what  this  queen  of  islands 
will  do. 

How  she  received  us  no  words  can  express  ;  with 
fresh-budding  mulberry-trees,  evergreen  oleanders, 
hedges  of  orange  and  lemon,  &c.  In  a  public  gar- 
den there  are  wide  beds  of  ranunculuses  and  ane- 
mones, the  air  is  soft,  warm,  and  fragrant ;  the 
wind  tepid  and  balmy.  To  add  to  the  enchantment, 
the  moon  stood  at  her  full,  behind  a  headland,  and 
threw  her  bright  reflection  in  the  sea  ;  and  all  this 
after  rocking  four  days  and  nights  on  the  waves. 
Forgive  me  for  scrawling  to  you  with  a  stump  of  a 
pen  out  of  a  shell  of  Indian  ink,  with  which  my 
companion  is  tracing  his  outline.  Receive  it  as  a 
mere  lisping,  till  I  can  prepare  some  better  memo- 


206 


rial  of  these  happy  hours  for  all  who  love  me. 
What  it  will  be  I  shall  not  say,  nor  can  I  say  when 
you  will  receive  it. 

#  *  #  #  # 

When  I  seek  to  write  words,  pictures  crowd  be- 
fore my  eyes; — the  fruitful  land,  the  expanded 
sea,  the  fragrant,  balmy  islands,  the  smoking  moun- 
tain :  —  and  I  want  the  organ  necessary  to  bring 
all  these  before  you. 

Goethe.    {Italiclnische  Reise.) 


FEMALE  DOMINION. 

Jirmidoro.  —  I  think,  Eulalia,  you  have 

taken  great  pains  in  your  writings  to  defend  your 
sex  from  the  reproach  of  love  of  power. 

Eulalia.  —  In  so  far  as  that  is  a  reproach,  I  had 
rather  that  my  sex  would  answer  it  by  their  con- 
duct ;  but,  in  so  far  as  we  have  a  right  to  power,  I 
would  not  willingly  renounce  it.  We  desire  power 
only  inasmuch  as  we  are  human  beings  ;  for  what 
is  power,  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  so  often  applied 
to  women,  but  the  liberty  to  employ  one's  faculties 
in  one's  own  way  unobstructed,  —  the  liberty  to 
make  the  best  of  one's  existence  ?  Of  this  power 
every  uncivilized  man  demands  the  arbitrary,  every 
civilized,  the  regulated  exercise  ;  and  perhaps  the 
struggle  for  it  in  women  appears  the  more  vehe- 
ment, because  nature,  law,  and  custom  seem  to  op- 


207 


press  us  as  much  as  they  favor  men.  What  they 
possess,  we  must  acquire  ;  and  one  contends  more 
strenuously  for  what  one  has  labored  for,  than  for 
what  one  has  inherited. 

Seylon.  —  And  yet  women  now-a-days  cannot 
complain,  for  they  inherit  as  much  or  more  than 
men  ;  and  I  maintain  that  it  is  far  more  difficult  to 
become  an  accomplished  man  than  an  accomplished 
woman.  The  expression,  "He  shall  be  thy  mas- 
ter," is  the  formula  of  a  barbarous  age,  which  is 
long  past.  Men  could  not  make  any  great  advance 
in  civilization  without  conceding  the  same  right  to 
women  ;  from  the  time  women  were  educated,  the 
balance  stood  even  ;  and  since  they  are  more  sus- 
ceptible of  education  than  men,  the  balance  has,  as 
experience  shows,  inclined  in  their  favor. 

Jlrmidoro.  — There  is  no  question  that  in  all  civ- 
ilized nations  the  women  must  on  the  whole  gain 
the  ascendency  ;  for  the  effect  of  the  mutual  influ- 
ence of  the  sexes  is  to  render  the  man  more  effemi- 
nate, and  then  he  loses, — since  his  preeminency 
consists,  not  in  diminished,  but  in  compressed 
force  ;  on  the  contrary,  if  the  woman  borrows 
something  from  the  man,  she  gains  ;  for  when  her 
other  gifts  and  graces  are  exalted  by  energy,  a 
being  is  formed  than  which  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
ceive one  more  perfect. 

Seylon.  —  I  have  not  gone  into  such  profound 
speculations  ;  it  is,  however,  I  think,  well  known 


208 


that  women  rule  and  must  rule  ;  when,  therefore, 
I  make  the  acquaintance  of  one,  I  only  observe 
where  she  rules  ;  —  somewhere,  I  assume  before- 
hand. 

Amelia.  —  And  do  you  find  what  you  seek  ? 

Seyton.  —  Why  not  ?  Experiments  in  physical 
science  are  not  much  more  easy  to  make.  I  find, 
universally,  that  the  active  woman,  formed  to  ac- 
quire and  to  uphold,  is  master  in  the  house  ;  the 
beauty,  with  her  light  and  superficial  graces  and 
talents,  master  in  large  circles  ;  the  more  pro- 
foundly instructed,  in  small  ones. 

Amelia.  —  So  we  are  divided  into  three  classes. 

Sinclair. — Which  are  all,  I  think,  honorable 
enough  ;  but  they  do  not  exhaust  the  subject. 
There  is  a  fourth,  of  which  we  had  better  not 
speak,  that  you  may  not  reproach  us  with  ending 
our  praise  with  blame. 

Henrietta.  —  Our  first  three  classes  contain  in- 
fluence in  the  house,  in  large,  and  in  small  cir- 
cles. What  room  remains  for  the  exercise  of  our 
activity  ? 

Sinclair.  —  Abundance.  But  I  have  the  con- 
trary in  my  head. 

Henrietta.  —  Inactivity  ?  And  how  ?  An  inac- 
tive woman  rule  ? 

Sinclair.  —  Why  not  ? 

Henrietta.  —  But  how  ? 

Sinclair.  —  By  passive  resistance.   Any  one  who, 


209 


either  from  temper  or  from  system,  stubbornly 
maintains  an  attitude  of  negation,  has  a  greater 
power  than  people  think. 

Amelia.  —  I  am  afraid  we  are  falling  into  the 
usual  tone  in  which  men  speak  of  women. 

Henrietta. — Let  him  alone,  Amelia  ;  nothing  is 
more  innocuous  than  such  opinions,  and  one  always 
gains  by  hearing  what  others  think  of  one.  Well 
then,  —  the  negationers,  —  what  of  them  ? 

Sinclair.  —  I  may  speak  here  without  reserve. 
In  our  dear  Fatherland  there  are  few  ;  in  France, 
none  ;  and  precisely  because  both  with  us  and  our 
gallant  neighbours,  women  enjoy  a  rational  free- 
dom ;  but  in  countries  where  they  are  greatly  con- 
strained, where  external  proprieties  are  anxiously 
and  timorously  observed  and  public  recreations 
rare,  they  are  more  common. 

 The  sort  of  woman  I  mean  is  mistress  of 

the  art  of  completely  embittering  the  life  of  the 
person  on  whom  she  depends,  by  mere  indifference, 
coldness,  and  reserve,  which  are  often  clothed  with 
an  air  of  languor  and  illness. 

Goethe.    (Die  guten  Weiber.) 


A  sky  resplendent  with  stars  hung  over  the  land- 
scape. The  gushing  of  the  fountains,  the  rustling 
of  the  woods,  resounded  in  the  calm  solitude  of  the 
garden,  in  which  Theodore  sauntered  up  and  down, 


210 


and  admired  the  effects  which  the  light  of  the  stars 
and  the  last  golden  streaks  of  the  western  horizon 
produced  in  the  dancing  waters.  And  now  Man- 
fred's bugle  was  heard  from  the  window  of  his 
chamber,  and  its  melancholy,  penetrating  notes 
came  trembling  back  from  the  distant  mountains, 
as  Ernest,  who  came  down  from  the  hills  behind 
the  garden,  opened  the  gate  and  joined  the  solitary 
Theodore. 

"  How  beautifully,"  he  began,  "does  this  serene 
and  brilliant  night  close  the  enjoyments  of  the  day! 
The  sun  and  our  sweet  friends  are  gone  to  rest  ; 
the  woods  and  waters  rustle  and  gush  in  the  night- 
breeze  ;  the  earth  dreams  ;  and  Manfred  pours 
forth  an  affectionate  farewell  to  slumbering  nature. 

"See,  my  dear  friend,  how  the  lamps  of  those 
frail,  fleeting  beings  flicker  in  the  balmy  air  !  how 
they  sparkle  like  diamonds  through  the  deep  green 
of  the  bushes,  and  now  in  quivering  clouds,  now  in 
solitary  brilliancy,  awaken  such  feelings  in  us  as 
soft  tones  excite.  — And  then  above  us,  the  splen- 
dor of  the  everlasting  firmament  !  Does  not  the 
sky  hang  over  the  dusky  earth  like  a  friend  from 
whose  eyes  beam  love  and  confidence  ?  —  whom 
one  would  trust  with  one's  whole  heart  in  all  the 
dangers  and  vicissitudes  of  life  ? 

"  This  sacred,  sober  calm  awakens  all  our  slum- 
bering sorrows,  and  turns  them  to  serene,  sedate 
joys.    And  even  thus  grand,  thus  mild,  does  the 


211 


noble  Novalis  seem  now  to  look  upon  me  with  his 
mortal  glance  ;  and  he  recalls  to  me  that  night  in 
which,  after  a  gay  festival,  I  wandered  over  the 
mountains  with  him  in  the  loveliest  scenery,  and 
we,  little  anticipating  so  near  a  separation,  dis- 
coursed of  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature  and  godlike 
in  friendship.  Perhaps  even  now,  while  I  think  of 
him  with  such  deep  and  intense  remembrance,  his 
heart  hangs  over  me  lovingly  like  that  starry  heav- 
en. Sleep  sweetly.  I  will  lay  me  down  to  rest 
that  I  may  meet  him  in  my  dreams." 

Tieck.  (Phantasm.) 


Exalted  and  living  Will,  whom  no  name  can 
express  and  no  idea  embrace,  I  yet  may  raise  my 
heart  to  thee  !  for  thou  and  I  are  not  divided.  Thy 
voice  is  audible  within  me.  In  thee,  the  Incompre- 
hensible, my  own  nature  and  the  whole  world  be- 
come intelligible  to  me  ;  every  riddle  of  my  exist- 
ence is  solved,  and  perfect  harmony  reigns  in  my 
soul.  I  veil  my  face  before  thee,  and  lay  my  hand 
upon  my  lips.  Such  as  thou  really  art,  —  such  as 
thou  appearest  unto  thyself,  —  I  can  no  more  be- 
hold thee  than  I  can  become  like  thee.  After 
thousands  of  thousands  of  lives  such  as  superior 
spirits  live,  I  should  be  as  little  able  to  understand 
thee  as  in  this  house  of  clay.  What  I  understand 
is,  from  my  very  understanding  it,  finite,  and  by  no 


212 


progression  can  ever  be  transformed  into  the  infi- 
nite. Thou  differest  from  the  finite,  not  in  degree, 
but  in  kind.  I  will  not  attempt  that  which  my  finite 
nature  forbids.  I  will  not  seek  to  know  the  nature 
and  essence  of  thy  being.  But  thy  relations  to  my- 
self and  to  all  that  is  finite  lie  open  before  my  eyes. 
Thou  createdst  in  me  the  consciousness  of  my 
duty,  —  of  my  destination  in  the  series  of  rational 
beings  ;  how,  I  know  not,  nor  need  I  to  know. 
Thou  knowest  my  thoughts  and  acceptest  my  inten- 
tions. In  the  contemplation  of  this  thy  relation  to 
my  finite  nature,  I  will  be  tranquil  and  happy.  Of 
myself  I  know  not  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  will  do  it 
simply,  joyfully,  and  without  cavil,  for  it  is  thy 
voice  that  commands  me,  and  the  strength  with 
which  I  perform  my  duty  is  thy  strength.  I  am 
tranquil  under  every  event  of  the  world,  for  it  is 
thy  world.  Whatever  happens  forms  part  of  the 
plan  of  the  eternal  world  and  of  thy  goodness. 
What  in  this  plan  is  positive  good,  and  what  only 
means  of  removing  existing  evil,  I  know  not.  In 
thy  world  all  will  end  in  good,  —  this  is  enough  for 
me,  and  in  this  faith  I  stand  fast  ;  but  what  in  thy 
world  is  mere  germ,  what  blossom,  and  what  the 
perfect  fruit,  I  know  not.  The  only  thing  which  is 
important  to  me,  is  the  progress  of  reason  and  of 
morality  through  all  the  ranks  of  rational  beings. 

When  my  heart  is  closed  to  all  earthly  desires, 
the  universe  appears  to  my  eye  in  a  glorified  as- 


213 


pect.  The  dead  cumbrous  masses  which  served 
only  to  fill  space,  disappear,  and  in  their  place  the 
eternal  stream  of  life  and  strength  and  action  flows 
on  from  its  source,  —  primeval  life  ;  from  thy  life, 
thou  Everlasting  One  ! 

Fichte.  (Bestimmung  des  Menschen.) 


OLD  ITALIAN  ART. 

These  old  severe  masters  are  succeeded  by  some 
whose  pictures  bloom  on  the  canvass  like  flowers  on 
their  stalk.  They  are  radiant  with  the  glory  of  a 
transparent,  golden,  blessed  world, — with  an  un- 
earthly expression  of  love  and  brightness  and  felicity. 
But  one  must  see  the  pictures  of  Giovanni  da  Fie- 
sole,  and  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  to  understand  what 
I  mean  ;  now-a-days  we  have  no  conception  of 
such  painting,  —  which  is  nothing  else  than  a  soul 
rendered  outwardly  visible, — -for  the  very  simple 
reason  that  we  have  no  conception  of  such  souls, 
whose  hope  was  never  clouded  by  despondency, 
whose  faith  never  troubled  by  doubt.  I  can  never 
help  smiling  when  I  look  at  Fiesole's  pictures, — 
as  a  child  smiles  in  its  sleep  at  the  splendor  of  its 
dreams.  Fra  Giovanni  was  a  Dominican  monk  in 
the  monastery  of  St.  Mark,  Florence.  Even  dur- 
ing his  life  he  was  called  Angelico,  and  after  his 
death  Beato.  He  painted  incessantly,  and  never 
for  money  ;  painting  was  with  him  but  another 
15 


214 

form  of  prayer.  He  commonly  painted  on  a  gold 
ground,  and  ornamented  the  walls  and  carpets  of 
his  pictures  with  graceful  arabesques,  which  have 
a  charming  effect  on  the  bright  colors  he  so  loved. 
His  heads  are  like  miniatures  for  delicacy  ;  they 
have  not  much  variety,  —  for  of  passion  he  knew 
nothing,  and  even  sorrow  lost  its  sting  by  the  con- 
soling foresight  <>f  ihe  blessedness  to  come.  Into 
the  anxieties  of  life,  into  the  restless  troubles  of 
the  world,  into  the  longing  of  infinite  unappeased 
desires,  he  had  never  even  looked,  far  less  ven- 
tured ;  he  knew  heaven,  but  not  earth  ;  hence  his 
pictures  are  monotonous,  and  he  succeeds  best  in 
those  of  paradise,  of  the  coronation  of  the  Virgin, 
and  the  like.  There  is  a  "Paradise"  in  the 
Academy,  glowing  in  a  rosy  light,  like  the  dawn, 
in  which  float  countless  beautiful  little  angels.  He 
painted  the  whole  history  of  Christ  on  four  small 
panels.  But  where  any  violent  movement  of  mind 
or  body  is  required, — as,  for  instance,  in  the 
wrathful  Christ  in  the  last  judgment,  passing  sen- 
tence on  the  wicked,  —  it  is  a  frightful  mask  ;  he 
understood  only  the  benign  Christ. 

Grttfin  Ida  Hahn-Hahn.    (Jenseits  der  Berge.) 


COUNT  BERNSTORF. 

Bernstorf  did  not  please  at  the  first  moment  ; 
his  eye  was  clouded  with  care,  and  deep  thought 


215 


sat  upon  his  brow  ;  but  as  soon  as  you  approached 
him,  you  saw  the  soul  which  beamed  through 
every  feature,  the  philanthropy  which  glowed  in 
his  eye,  and  the  cordial  affability  which  played 
around  his  mouth.  You  perceived  that  he  was  a 
good,  and,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  speak,  a  great 
and  a  brilliant  man.  His  eloquence  flowed  like  a 
soft  stream,  and  won  its  way  through  rocks,  —  the 
expression  was  always  exactly  fitted  to  the  end, 
the  word  to  the  thing  ;  his  whole  presence  beamed 
with  truth,  and  stood  before  you  in  the  visible 
colors  of  nature. 

He  spoke  with  peculiar  force  on  affairs  of  gov- 
ernment, on  revolutions  in  the  history  of  mankind, 
on  the  future  effects  of  causes  as  yet  scarcely  in 
existence,  and  on  the  expectations  to  be  formed  from 
various  political  systems.  He  painted  men  and 
states  to  the  life,  and  drew  from  history  with  light 
but  distinct  sketches,  whose  resemblance  struck, 
and  whose  arrangement,  light,  and  shadow  showed 
the  creative  hand  of  a  master.  Examples  of  vir- 
tue animated  him  ;  every  noble  action,  every 
thought  of  benevolence  or  of  patriotism,  struck  a 
kindred  chord  in  his  heart. 

A  man  who  to  brilliant  endowments  unites  power 
and  influence,  generally  predominates  over  silent 
and  obsequious  crowds  ;  they  listen  and  admire, 
and  the  charm  of  conversation  vanishes  with  its 
equality.     But  Bernstorf  did  not  humble  or  op- 


216 


press  by  his  intellectual  superiority  ;  he  invited  to 
reply  by  his  affability,  and  knew  how  to  choose 
his  subject  according  to  the  talents  and  acquire- 
ments of  his  company.  He  understood  the  art.  of 
asking  a  welcome  question,  of  giving  an  encoura- 
ging answer.  He  had  a  word,  a  look,  a  mark  of  re- 
spect ready  for  all,  so  that  even  the  timid  were 
inspired  with  courage.  Every  man  found  the  fit 
opportunity  to  display  his  peculiar  talent,  the  arena 
on  which  he  could  appear  to  advantage.  In  this 
alone  consits  true  courtesy,  which  is  never  suc- 
cessful when  it  is  accompanied  by  a  visible  con- 
sciousness of  the  gracious  condecension  with  which 
the  great  man  waves  his  claims  to  superiority. 

Bernstorf  was  master  even  of  his  natural  dis- 
positions. He  was  of  a  warm  temper,  and  so 
peculiarly  sensible  to  the  ridiculous,  that  satire 
often  rose  to  his  lip  and  sparkled  in  his  eye,  but 
he  gave  it  no  utterance.  He  was  too  kind  to  be 
sarcastic. 

The  last  hour  of  evening  was  the  most  agreeable 
time  of  his  day.  He  spent  it  amidst  his  family  and 
intimate  friends,  and  a  few  men  of  letters.  Here 
he  unfolded  all  the  treasures  of  his  heart  and  mind  ; 
the  veil  of  dignity  fell,  and  his  soul  beamed  forth 
in  all  its  native  beauty  ;  we  never  left  him  without 
feeling  a  warmer  love  of  virtue,  without  being  in- 
structed, improved. 

Seldom  does  a  man  who  has  taken  a  share  in  im- 


217 


portant  public  affairs  wish  to  live  over  again  his 
whole  life  without  the  omission  of  a  single  period 
or  event  ;  but  Bernstorf  often  acknowledged  with 
gratitude  that  he  would  receive  back  from  the 
hands  of  Providence  all  his  past  days,  without  ex- 
ception or  condition,  were  he  not  travelling  toward 
a  better  futurity. 

 His  life  was  illustrated  by  every  sort  of 

fame.  When  at  the  helm  of  state,  he  was  success- 
ful, and  beloved  by  all  virtuous  men  ;  when  strip- 
ped of  power,  he  was  still  the  object  of  their  rev- 
erence. 

Helfrich  Peter  Sturz. 
(Erinnerungen  des  Graf  en  J-  H.  E.  von  Berjistorf.) 


ON  THE  SUPERSTITIONS   OF  OUR.  FOREFATHERS. 

So  much  is  said  about  the  superstitions  of  our 
forefathers,  and  so  many  inferences  unfavorable  to 
the  strength  of  their  understandings  are  drawn  from 
them,  that  I  cannot  resist  saying  a  few  words,  if 
not  of  justification,  yet  of  apology.  According  to 
my  view  of  the  matter,  the  only  object  of  their  so- 
called  superstitious  fictions  was  to  express  certain 
truths  in  figures  or  symbols,  (which  have  still  a  pe- 
culiar name  in  popular  language,  —  Wahrzeichen, 
—  sign  or  token,)  as  aids  to  the  memory  ;  just  as 
they  tied  a  bit  of  wood  to  a  key  to  distinguish  it. 

Thus,  for  example,  they  told  a  child  who  laid  his 


218 

knife  with  the  edge  upwards,  or  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  be  perilous  to  himself  or  his  neighbours,  that 
the  holy  angels  would  wound  their  feet  when  they 
walked  upon  the  table  ;  not  that  they  actually  be- 
lieved this,  but  that  they  wished  to  impress  the 
child's  memory  through  his  imagination.  They 
taught  that  everybody  would  have  to  wait  at  the 
gates  of  paradise  as  many  hours  as  he  had  wanton- 
ly scattered  grains  of  salt  ;  by  which  they  gave 
their  children  or  their  servants  a  lively  and  lasting 
impression  of  the  evil  effects  of  carelessness  and 
waste  in  trifles,  the  total  amount  of  which  would 
become  considerable. 

They  told  a  vain  girl  who  could  not  pass  the 
looking-glass  without  casting  a  furtive  glance  into 
it,  that  the  devil  peeped  over  the  shoulder  of  those 
who  looked  at  themselves  in  a  glass  at  night  ;  and 
many  other  things  of  the  same  kind,  by  which  they 
endeavoured  to  imprint  a  good  precept  on  the  mind 
by  the  aid  of  imagery.  In  a  word,  they  drew  from 
the  world  of  spirits,  as  we  do  from  the  animal 
world,  instructive  fables,  as  a  means  of  making  a 
deep  impression  on  the  minds  of  children. 

Justus  Mdser. 


To  the  toiling  Englishman,  unremittingly  occu- 
pied with  worldly  business  and  worldly  cares,  the 
strict  observance  of  the  Sunday  must  be  most  salu- 


219 


tary  ;  the  less  busy  Catholic  (especially  in  the 
South)  requires  not  only  this  day  as  a  day  of  rest, 
but  also  holydays  to  give  variety  and  interest  to  life. 
The  German  Protestant,  who,  whatever  be  his  ob- 
vious duties  or  his  outward  calling,  is  ever  prone 
to  reflection  on  inward  things,  stands  less  in  need 
of  such  a  frequently  returning  day  of  rest,  since 
his  creed  enjoins  upon  him  the  duty  of  devoting  a 
portion  of  every  day  to  serious  and  spiritual  con- 
templation. Hence  it  happens  that  the  institution 
of  the  Sabbath  is  observed  in  a  totally  different 
spirit  in  different  countries. 

Goethe. 


In  a  sound  sleep  the  soul  goes  home  to  recruit 
her  strength,  which  could  not  else  endure  the  wear 
and  tear  of  life. 


Rakel. 


PLATO  AND  ARISTOTLE. 

The  principal  sources  from  which  we  derive  our 
knowledge  of  the  most  ancient  Greek  philosophy 
are  Plato  and  Aristotle  ;  although  no  books  on  that 
subject  have  come  down  to  us  from  the  hand  of  the 
former,  and  only  a  few  fragments  from  that  of  the 
latter.  But,  as  it  was  the  vocation  of  each  of  them 
to  collect  together  the  previous  isolated  efforts  of 
speculative  minds,  and,  after  excluding  such  as  led 


220 


to  no  result,  to  give  to  these  materials  the  unity 
and  completeness  of  a  philosophical  system,  both 
were  compelled  to  begin  by  examining  what  had 
already  been  produced  by  the  light  of  criticism, 
which  each  employed  according  to  his  own  pecu- 
liar views  ;  so  that  in  this  respect,  as  well  as  in 
their  several  systems,  each  reciprocally  forms,  as 
it  were,  the  complement  of  the  other. 

Aristotle  introduces  his  own  researches  by  his- 
torico-critical  discussions,  whose  comprehensive- 
ness and  accuracy  we  shall  have  frequent  occasion 
to  admire  ;  besides  which,  he  also  treated  in  sep- 
arate and  special  books,  of  the  Pythagorean  phi- 
losophy, —  of  Archytas,  —  of  Alcmaeon,  —  of  the 
Eleatic  school,  —  of  Gorgias,  —  of  the  Platonic 
ideas,  —  of  the  doctrines  of  Plato  on  the  Supreme 
Good  ;  and,  in  his  books  on  the  republic  and  on 
laws,  of  Speusippus  and  of  Xenocrates. 

From  Plato  we  learn  more  especially  the  spirit 
and  tendency  of  the  earlier  philosophical  theories, 
and  gain  glimpses  of  the  personal  characteristics  of 
the  speculators,  painted  with  the  dramatic  talent 
peculiar  to  himself.  From  Aristotle  we  obtain 
many  details  of  earlier  opinions  and  methods. 

The  reason  why  Plato  often  does  not  reproduce 
the  doctrines  of  earlier  philosophers  with  the  same 
distinctness  in  which  they  are  to  be  found  in  their 
original  authors,  was,  not  that  he  was  deficient  in 
historical  impartiality  and  faithful  apprehension  of 


221 


the  recorded  past,  but  that  his  plan  required  him 
rather  to  describe  the  spirit  and  aim  of  any  given 
philosophical  tendency,  than  the  exact  manner  in 
which  that  tendency  exhibited  itself.  Hence  his 
representations  may  sometimes  require  to  be  com- 
pleted and  filled  out,  but  never  to  be  corrected. 

The  industry  and  the  power  displayed  by  Aris- 
totle in  comprehending  with  precision  what  was 
before  him,  are  not  less  conspicuously  displayed  in 
his  sketches  of  the  doctrines  of  the  elder  philoso- 
phers, than  in  his  other  works.  It  is  by  the  com- 
parison with  them  that  he  tests  his  own  conclu- 
sions ;  starting  from  the  supposition  that  later  phi- 
losophical inquiries  are  essentially  predetermined 
by  earlier,  and  that  these,  even  when  they  have 
failed  of  their  end,  have  materially  contributed  to 
the  discovery  of  truth,  were  it  only  by  the  exercise 
they  have  given  to  the  faculties.  For  this  reason 
we  ought  to  verify  the  accuracy  of  our  own  as- 
sumptions by  those  of  our  predecessors  ;  but,  for 
the  purpose  of  thoroughly  eliciting  all  the  truth 
embodied  in  them,  we  must  proceed  like  impartial 
arbitrators,  not  in  the  style  of  antagonists.*  Aris- 
totle has  been  most  unjustly  reproached  with  pre- 
tending in  every  case  to  be  himself  the  first  dis- 
coverer of  the  truth,  and  with  misrepresenting 
preceding  speculators,  in  order  to  conceal  his  own 


*  De  Coelo,  1,  10. 


222 


plagiarisms.  There  is  some  ground  for  the  accusa- 
tion that  Aristotle  was  too  much  inclined  to  gener- 
alization, and  to  referring  all  preceding  opinions 
and  systems  to  his  own  ;  —  but  a  corrective  to  any 
misunderstanding  is  generally  to  be  found  in  his 
own  statements. 

C.  A.  Brandis. 

( Handbuch  der  Geschichte  der  Griechisch-Romischen  Philosophie. 


ROMAN  JURISTS. 

The  method  of  treating  law  which  was  pursued 
by  the  Roman  jurists  had  a  certain  degree  of  uni- 
formity. Proceeding  from  positive  legal  rules,  they 
combined  them  in  the  most  skilful  and  refined 
manner  with  that  part  of  every  system  of  law  which 
is  not  positive,  and  worked  up  both  elements  into 
one  coherent  and  consistent  whole.  Sometimes 
analyzing  a  given  maxim  of  law,  sometimes  supply- 
ing its  defects  by  implication  from  itself,  and  some- 
times creating  new  legal  maxims  by  the  process  of 
scientific  construction,  they  dealt  with  their  mate- 
rials after  the  manner  of  a  logician  or  mathema- 
tician, and  thus  elevated  their  science  into  a  logic 
applied  to  the  matter  of  law.  Notwithstanding  their 
decided  fondness  for  the  subtile  developement  of  an 
assumed  fundamental  principle,  their  sound  practi- 
cal sense  preserved  them  from  useless  refinements. 
To  rigorous  philosophical  forms  they  attached  no 


223 


great  value  :  hence  in  their  general  definitions  and 
divisions,  and  in  the  arrangement  of  their  materials, 
they  often  exhibit  some  inaccuracy  and  careless- 
ness ;  but  in  the  analysis  of  the  matter  itself,  they 
never  failed  to  hit  the  right  idea  and  expression. 
Their  language  and  style,  like  that  of  men  of  varied 
acquirements  and  experience  in  life,  was  pure, 
simple,  distinct,  dignified,  free  from  all  tincture  of 
pedantry,  suggestive,  and  vivid  ;  and  it  escaped 
the  common  degeneracy  for  a  longer  time  than  that 
of  any  other  class  of  writers.  The  Greek  philoso- 
phy, by  means  of  its  general  influence  upon  their 
mental  cultivation,  indirectly  influenced  the  juris- 
prudence of  the  Romans  ;  but  so  far  was  it  from 
exercising  any  direct  or  special  influence,  that  the 
Roman  jurists,  in  their  enthusiasm  for  their  study, 
showed  an  inclination  to  exalt  it  into  a  science  em- 
bracing ethics  as  well  as  law. 

Walter.    (Geschichte  des  Rdmischen  Rechts.) 


SCENE   ON  THE  VISTULA. 

Sixty  or  seventy  years  ago,  Danzig  might  be  re- 
garded as  the  terminal  stone  of  the  civilized  world  ; 
since  then  the  march  of  civilization  has  trodden  all 
such  boundaries  into  the  dust  ;  but  my  paternal 
city,  independently  of  its  singular  style  of  building, 
has  still  enough  of  its  earlier  originality  remaining 
to  interest  the  intelligent  stranger.    One  of  the 


224 


most  striking  features  is  the  arrival  of  the  vessels 
laden  with  corn,  which  still  present  a  strange  spec- 
tacle, though  not  so  much  so  as  formerly. 

In  our  northern  clime,  spring  starts  up,  and  at 
one  bound  throws  off  the  white  shroud,  and  breaks 
the  crystal  covering,  under  which  she  lay  con- 
cealed. Then  the  waters  in  the  interior  of  Poland 
swell,  and,  towards  the  end  of  May,  the  Vistula, 
which  is  often  too  shallow  even  for  the  flat  Polish 
craft  which  navigate  it,  becomes  deep  enough  to 
bear  on  its  bosom  the  golden  gifts  of  Ceres  to  my 
native  city,  which  in  former  times  was  justly  called 
the  granary  of  Europe. 

The  small  sea  craft  lying  at  anchor  by  the  Long 
Bridge  over  the  Mottlau,  like  the  return  carriages 
in  Frankfort,  with  the  place  of  their  destination 
written  on  a  black  board,  —  "  God  willing,  to  Kon- 
igsberg,"  (Will's  Gott,  nach  Konigsberg,)  "God 
willing,  to  Petersburg,"  "  God  willing,  to  Memel," 
and  so  forth,  are  forced  to  crowd  more  closely  to- 
gether to  make  room  for  the  strange  fleet  which 
now  covers  the  Mottlau. 

Boats  or  barges  these  ill-built  craft  can  hardly  be 
called  ;  their  appearance  is  so  shapeless  and  rick- 
ety, that  one  wonders  how  they  can  have  made 
their  long  voyage  in  safety  ;  at  the  end  of  it  they 
are  broken  up  and  sold  as  timber,  and  the  crews 
find  their  way  home  on  foot,  over  moor  and  heath, 
and  through  primeval  forests.    They  are  most  like 


225 


a  small  raft,  only  that  they  taper  to  each  end  like  a 
boat,  and  have  a  sort  of  low  deck,  at  the  end  of 
which  is  a  hut,  serving  as  the  cabin  of  the  master  ; 
they  have  no  masts  or  sails,  but  are  steered  by  a 
clumsy  sort  of  rudder,  and  rowed  down  stream  by 
more  than  a  hundred  sturdy  arms  of  Schimkys, 
seated  on  benches,  and  keeping  time  with  their 
oars.  The  whole  of  the  remaining  space  is  filled 
with  wheat  or  rye.  The  enormous  heap,  piled  up 
as  high  as  possible,  lies  open,  without  the  smallest 
shelter  from  wind  or  weather. 

Before  the  first  partition  of  Poland,  when  the 
corn-trade  was  almost  a  monopoly  of  Danzig,  in 
years  when  the  crops  were  abundant  and  the  waters 
high,  the  whole  surface  of  the  broad  stream  was 
often  covered  with  these  vessels,  steering  their  dif- 
ficult course  as  through  a  crowded  street.  If  a 
stranger  could  suddenly  have  been  placed  on  the 
Long  Bridge,  he  must  have  thought  himself  on  one 
of  the  South  Sea  Islands,  which  had  just  then  been 
discovered,  in  the  midst  of  the  canoes  of  savages  ; 
so  thoroughly  un-European  was  the  appearance  of 
the  Schimkys  and  the  whole  flotilla.  That  such  a 
scene  should  still  exist  in  a  civilized  country  so 
near  to  Germany,  seems  incredible  ;  a  galerien  of 
Toulon,  compared  with  a  Schimky,  is  a  dandy. 

Spite  of  their  wild  aspect,  there  is  however  noth- 
ing disgusting  or  hideous  in  these  large-boned, 
bronzed,  and  meagre  forms  ;  a  fat,  thriving  Schim- 


226 


ky  is  an  idea  beyond  the  region  of  possibility. 
With  the  exception  of  the  national  mustachio, 
bleached  to  a  sort  of  yellow  by  sun  and  rain,  the 
whole  head  is  close  shorn,  and  covered  with  a  large 
straw  hat  of  home  manufacture,  or  a  flat  fur  cap  ; 
the  back  of  the  neck  and  breast  are  bare.  The 
dress  consists  of  trowsers  girt  round  the  waist,  and 
a  slop  (kittel)  of  the  very  coarsest  unbleached 
linen.  Wooden  soles,  thickly  studded  with  strong 
iron  nails,  and  bound  under  the  naked  foot,  are  the 
general  substitutes  for  shoes. 

The  horrible  clatter  made  by  this  chaassure, 
when  a  party  of  Schimkys  came  down  the  street, 
always  drove  us  childr  in  into  the  house  ;  and  even 
when  almost  grown  up,  I  never  came  near  them 
without  a  beating  heart.  I  was  frightened  at  their 
wild  looks,  but  without  cause  ;  they  harmed  no- 
body, nor  did  I  ever  hear  of  a  Schimky  being  ac- 
cused of  theft  or  any  other  crime. 

They  were  serfs,  and  are  mostly  so  still,  except 
in  the  part  of  Poland  subject  to  Prussia.  Their 
life  is  hardly  rated  so  high  as  that  of  a  dog  or  a 
horse.  The  nobleman  who  from  recklessness  or 
anger  killed  one,  paid  a  fine  of  ten  dollars,  without 
any  legal  proceedings,  and  so  the  matter  was  con- 
cluded and  forgotten.  And  yet  there  existed  not  a 
more  contented,  I  might  say  joyous,  people  than 
these  serfs  in  their  deepest  depth  of  poverty  ;  they 


227 


missed  not  what  they  never  had,  — what  they  hard- 
ly knew  by  name. 

How  they  get  through  the  winter  I  know  not  ;  in 
summer  their  life  is  nearly  that  of  a  savage.  Day 
and  night  under  the  open  sky,  they  lie  on  the  shore 
of  the  river  near  the  enormous  heaps  of  wheat, 
which  they  watch  and  constantly  turn  over  to  keep 
it  from  damage  till  it  is  housed  in  the  granaries. 

A  thick  porridge  of  pease  or  buckwheat,  which 
they  cook  in  a  huge  pot  hung  on  a  stake  laid  over 
two  crotched  sticks,  is  their  daily  food  ;  if  a  party 
has  been  so  fortunate  as  to  get  possession  of  two  or 
three  tallow  candles  to  flavor  the  unsavory  mess, 
they  think  their  meal  delicious.  At  midday  they 
may  be  seen  sitting  in  picturesque  groups  around 
the  smoking  pot,  dipping  in  their  large  wooden 
spoons,  (which  are  also  a  favorite  article  of  manu- 
facture and  commerce  with  them,)  and  swallowing 
down  vast  quantities,  accompanied  with  an  inces- 
sant chatter. 

A  draught  of  brandy  is  a  still  greater  treat  to 
them  than  a  tallow  candle  ;  but  even  when  the  in- 
tellects of  these  poor  half-human  childien  are  a 
little  clouded,  they  retain  their  good  nature,  and 
never  is  such  a  thing  heard  of  as  violence  or 
murder. 

Johanna,  Schopenhauer. 
{Jugendteben  und  Wanderbilder.) 


228 


WHAT  IS  ENLIGHTENMENT  ?# 

A  man  is  enlightened  when  he  emerges  from  a 
state  of  self-imposed  pupilage.  Pupilage  is  the  in- 
ability to  use  one's  own  understanding  without  the 
guidance  of  another.  This  state  is  self-imposed 
when  the  cause  of  it  lies,  not  in  a  deficiency  of  un- 
derstanding, but  of  determination  and  courage  to 
use  it  without  the  guidance  of  another.  Sapere 
aude  !  —  have  the  courage  to  use  your  own  under- 
standing, is  therefore  the  motto  of  enlightenment. 

Indolence  and  cowardice  are  the  causes  why  so 
large  a  portion  of  mankind,  long  after  nature  has 
emancipated  them  from  the  guidance  of  others,  {na- 
turaliler  majorennes,)  voluntarily  remain  in  a  state 
of  pupilage  during  their  whole  lives  ;  and  why  it  is 
so  easy  for  others  to  assume  the  character  of  their 
guardians.  It  is  so  convenient  to  be  under  guar- 
dianship. If  I  have  a  book  that  possesses  an  un- 
derstanding for  me,  a  guardian  of  souls  that  has  a 
conscience  for  me,  a  physician  that  prescribes  my 
diet,  and  so  forth,  I  need  take  no  trouble  myself. 
So  long  as  I  can  pay,  I  need  not  think  ;  others  will 
undertake  that  toilsome  business  for  me.    By  far 

*  It  is  impossible,  without  greater  deviation  from  the  original 
than  I  feel  myself  justified  in  making,  to  avoid  the  use  of  this 
very  awkward  word,  which  is  the  exact  translation  of  Avfklcirung. 
A  more  significant  title  would  be,  "  A  plea  for  the  liberty  of  phi- 
losophizing." —  Translator. 


229 


the  larger  half  of  the  human  race  (including  the 
whole  of  the  fair  sex)  regard  the  step  to  majority 
not  only  as  laborious  and  difficult,  but  also  as  ex- 
tremely dangerous  ;  an  idea  which  the  guardians 
who  have  so  benevolently  taken  upon  themselves 
the  supervision  and  guidance  of  their  conduct, 
have  assiduously  inculcated.  After  they  have  first 
made  their  domestic  animal  sufficiently  stupid,  and 
have  carefully  prevented  the  quiet  creature  from 
venturing  to  set  a  step  without  the  go-cart  into 
which  they  have  put  it,  they  next  proceed  to  point 
out  the  danger  which  threatens  it,  if  it  should  at- 
tempt to  go  alone.  Now  in  truth  this  danger  is  not 
so  very  great  ;  it  would  learn  to  go  alone  at  the 
expense  of  a  few  tumbles  ;  but  one  fall  generally 
makes  it  timorous,  and  frightens  it  from  any  fur- 
ther attempt. 

It  is  difficult  for  any  individual  human  being  to 
apply  the  labor  necessary  to  extricate  himself  from 
the  pupilage  which  is  become  a  second  nature. 
He  has  grown  to  like  it,  and  is  really  incapable  of 
using  his  own  understanding  at  once,  because  he 
has  never  been  permitted  to  try.  Maxims  and  for- 
mulae, —  those  mechanical  tools  of  the  use  or  rath- 
er abuse,  of  his  natural  faculties,  —  are  the  gyves 
which  keep  him  in  a  perpetual  pupilage.  He  who 
throws  them  away  will  make  but  a  feeble  and  un- 
steady leap  over  the  narrowest  ditch,  because  he  is 
wholly  unaccustomed  to  unrestrained  movement. 
16 


230 

Hence  there  are  but  few  who  have  succeeded  in 
extricating  themselves  from  pupilage  by  their  own 
efforts,  and  have  yet  retained  a  steady  gait. 

But  that  a  public  should  enlighten  herself  is  far 
more  possible,  —  indeed,  if  freedom  be  granted  it, 
is  nearly  inevitable  :  for  there  will  always  be  some 
few  independent  thinkers,  even  among  the  guardi- 
ans of  the  multitude,  who,  when  they  themselves 
have  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  pupilage,  will  diffuse 
around  them  a  rational  sense  of  individual  dignity, 
and  of  the  obligation  which  lies  on  every  human 
being  to  think  for  himself.  It  is  remarkable  that 
the  public  (at  the  instigation  of  some  of  its  guardi- 
ans, who  are  themselves  incapable  of  enlighten- 
ment) forces  the  very  men  who  at  first  placed  it 
under  the  yoke  to  continue  to  bear  it  ;  so  mis- 
chievous is  it  to  implant  prejudices,  since  they  re- 
coil on  those,  or  on  the  successors  of  those,  who 
were  their  authors.  Hence  it  is  that  a  public  at- 
tains slowly  to  a  state  of  enlightenment.  A  deliv- 
erance from  personal  despotism,  or  from  rapacious 
or  domineering  oppression,  may  be  brought  about 
by  revolution  :  but  a  real  reform  in  opinion  will 
never  be  effected  by  such  means  ;  new  prejudices 
will  only  take  the  place  of  the  old,  leading-strings 
of  the  unthinking,  unreasoning  mass. 

In  order  to  enlightenment  nothing  is  wanted  but 
liberty  ;  the  safest  and  most  innocuous  that  can  be 
called  by  that  name, — that  is,  liberty  to  make  a 


231 


public  use  of  one's  reason  on  all  subjects.  But  I 
hear  exclamations  from  every  side  against  the  use 
of  reason.  The  officer  says,  "Don't  reason,  but 
obey  orders  ;  "  the  financier,  "  Don't  reason,  but 
pay  ;  "  the  priest,  "  Don't  reason,  but  believe." 
These  are  so  many  restrictions  of  freedom.  It  is 
therefore  necessary  to  inquire,  what  restrictions 
are  adverse  to  enlightenment  ;  what,  not  only  not 
adverse,  but  favorable  to  it.  I  answer,  the  public 
exercise  of  reason  must  be  constantly  and  invaria- 
bly free  ;  this  is  the  sole  means  by  which  mankind 
can  be  enlightened  :  but  the  private  exercise  of  it 
may  often  be  subjected  to  very  rigorous  restric- 
tions, without  much  prejudice  to  the  progress  of 
enlightenment.  It  is  necessary  to  explain,  that  by 
the  public  use  which  each  man  makes  of  his  own 
reason,  I  understand  that  which  every  man  of  sci- 
ence, in  that  capacity,  makes  of  it  in  addressing 
the  whole  reading  public.  By  the  private  use,  I 
mean  that  which  a  man  makes  of  his  reason  in  any 
civil  post  confided  to  him,  or  as  member  of  a  po- 
litical community. 

Now  in  order  to  the  interests  of  the  community, 
it  is  necessary  that  such  a  degree  of  consentaneity 
of  action  should  prevail  among  its  members,  as 
that  each  should  promote,  or  at  least  should  not 
obstruct,  the  accomplishment  of  certain  ends  ;  and 
that  he  should,  as  regards  those  ends,  be  a  passive 
instrument  of  the  government.     It  is  clear  that, 


232 


considered  as  a  part  of  the  great  machine  of  politi- 
cal society,  a  man  must  not  reason,  but  obey. 

So  far,  however,  as  any  one  part  of  this  machine 
is  to  be  regarded  as  simply  one  of  the  units  com- 
posing the  community,  (and  even  the  community  of 
the  whole  human  race,)  and  so  far  as,  in  his  quality 
of  man  of  science,  he  addresses  himself  to  the  pub- 
lic at  large,  he  may  unquestionably  use  his  reason, 
without  prejudice  to  the  business  which  is  commit- 
ted to  him. 

Thus,  it  would  be  very  mischievous  if  an  officer 
were  to  question  the  utility  of  an  order  of  his  su- 
perior ;  he  must  obey.  But  no  one  can  justly 
contest  his  right,  as  a  man  of  science,  to  criticize 
errors  in  the  military  art,  or  to  submit  his  criticisms 
to  the  judgment  of  the  public. 

The  citizen  cannot  refuse  to  pay  the  taxes  im- 
posed on  him  ;  nay,  any  indiscreet  censure  of  such 
taxes  at  the  time  of  their  collection,  calculated  to 
excite  general  resistance,  may  be  punished  as  dan- 
gerous to  the  public  peace.  But  the  same  individ- 
ual does  nothing  inconsistent  with  the  character 
of  a  good  citizen,  if  he  publicly  expresses  his 
thoughts  on  the  inexpediency  or  the  injustice  of 
such  taxes 

In  the  same  manner,  a  clergyman  is  bound  to  in- 
struct his  catechumens  and  parishioners  according 
to  the  creed  of  the  church  of  which  he  is  a  minis- 
ter ;  for  this  was  the  condition  upon  which  he  was 


233 


received  into  it  as  such.  But,  as  a  theologian  and 
a  scholar,  he  has  full  liberty,  —  indeed  it  is  his  vo- 
cation, —  to  communicate  to  the  public  the  results 
of  his  careful  examination  and  conscientious  opin- 
ion of  what  is  erroneous  in  that  creed,  together 
with  suggestions  tending  to  a  reform  in  the  affairs 
of  the  church  and  of  religion.  There  is  nothing  in 
this  which  needs  oppress  the  conscience  ;  for  that 
which  he  teaches  in  pursuance  of  his  office  as  min- 
ister of  the  church,  he  represents  as  something 
which  he  is  not  at  liberty  to  teach  according  to  his 
own  way  of  thinking,  but  which  he  is  appointed  to 
teach  according  to  the  prescription  and  in  the  name 
of  others.  He  says,  our  church  teaches  this  or 
that  ;  these  are  the  proofs  it  adduces.  He  then 
extracts  for  his  hearers  all  the  practical  utility  pos- 
sible, from  premises  which  he  could  not  himself 
subscribe  with  full  conviction,  but  to  the  exposition 
of  which  he  may  pledge  himself,  because  it  is  not 
entirely  impossible  that  truth  may  lie  concealed  in 
them,  and  at  all  events  they  contain  nothing  repug- 
nant to  the  essence  of  religion.  If,  indeed,  he 
thought  he  discovered  in  them  any  thing  having 
this  tendency,  he  could  not  conscientiously  con- 
tinue to  perform  his  function,  —  he  must  resign  it. 
The  use  therefore  that  an  appointed  teacher  makes 
of  his  reason  before  his  flock,  is  a  private  use  ; 
since  he  is  not,  in  his  character  of  priest,  free,  and 
ought  not  to  be  so,  being  charged  with  a  commis- 


234 


sion.  On  the  other  hand,  as  a  theologian  and 
scholar  addressing  the  public  properly  so  called 
(that  is  the  world),  the  clergyman,  in  this  the  pub- 
lic use  of  his  reason,  enjoys,  in  common  with  other 
men,  an  unlimited  freedom  to  use  his  own  reason 
and  to  speak  in  his  own  person.  For,  that  the 
guardians  of  the  people  in  spiritual  things,  should 
be  themselves  in  a  state  of  pupilage,  is  an  absurdi- 
ty which  goes  to  the  perpetuation  of  all  absurdities. 

But  is  not  an  association  of  clergymen,  —  a 
church  assembly,  or  a  venerable  classis  (as  they 
call  themselves  in  Holland), — justified  in  binding 
itself  by  oath  to  certain  immutable  articles  of  faith, 
in  order  to  exercise  a  perpetual  supreme  guardian- 
ship over  each  of  its  members,  and,  indirectly 
through  them,  over  the  people  ?  I  answer,  such  a 
thing  is  totally  inadmissible.  A  compact  of  this 
kind,  which  is  entered  into  with  a  view  to  conclude 
the  human  race  from  all  further  enlightenment,  is 
simply  null  and  void,  even  though  it  be  confirmed 
by  the  sovereign  power,  by  diets  and  the  most  sol- 
emn treaties.  One  age  cannot  bind  itself ;  nor 
can  it  conspire  to  place  the  following  one  in  a  con- 
dition in  which  it  would  be  impossible  for  it  to  ex- 
tend its  knowledge,  to  purge  itself  from  error,  and 
to  advance  in  the  career  of  enlightenment.  This 
were  a  crime  against  human  nature,  whose  highest 
destination  consists  emphatically  in  intellectual 
progress  ;  and  posterity  is  therefore  fully  justified 


235 


in  rejecting  all  such  attempts  to  bind  it,  as  invalid 
and  mischievous. 

A  combination  to  maintain  an  unalterable  re- 
ligious system,  which  no  man  should  be  permitted 
to  call  into  doubt,  would,  even  for  the  term  of  one 
man's  life,  be  wholly  intolerable.  It  would  be  to 
blot  out,  as  it  were,  one  generation  in  the  progress 
of  the  human  species  towards  a  better  condition  ;  to 
render  it  barren,  and  hence  noxious  to  posterity. 
A  man  can  indeed  retard  his  own  intellectual  pro- 
gress, though  even  then  only  for  a  time,  as  regards 
things  which  it  is  incumbent  on  him  to  know  ;  but 
utterly  to  renounce  it  for  himself,  and  far  more  for 
posterity,  is  an  outrage  on  the  most  sacred  rights 
of  humanity.  Now  what  a  people  ought  not  to  de- 
termine for  itself,  a  monarch  ought  still  less  to  de- 
termine for  it  ;  for  his  legislative  character  and 
dignity  rests  on  his  being  the  depositary  and  organ 
of  the  collective  will  of  his  people.  If  he  does  but 
ascertain  that  every  real  or  supposed  spiritual  im- 
provement consists  with  the  existing  order  and 
tranquillity  of  society,  he  may  safely  leave  his  sub- 
jects to  do  what  they  think  necessary  for  the  good 
of  their  own  souls  :  in  that  he  has  no  right  to  inter- 
fere ;  his  business  is  to  take  care  that  none  of  them 
forcibly  obstruct  their  neighbours  in  their  endeav- 
ours to  settle  their  own  opinions,  or  to  promote 
their  own  spiritual  welfare  by  any  means  within 
their  reach.    It  is  even  derogatory  to  his  majesty 


236 


to  occupy  the  attention  of  his  government  with  the 
writings  by  means  of  which  his  subjects  are  striving 
to  adjust  their  opinions  ;  whether  he  does  this  of 
his  own  judgment,  (in  which  case  he  subjects  him- 
self to  the  reproach,  "Caesar  non  est  supra  gram- 
maticos,")  or  so  deeply  degrades  his  sovereign 
power,  as  to  sustain  the  spiritual  despotism  of  a  few 
tyrants  in  his  state  against  the  rest  of  his  subjects. 

If  it  is  asked,  Is  the  age  we  live  in  an  enlight- 
ened one  ?  the  answer  is,  No  ;  but  it  is  an  age  of 
enlightenment.  That,  as  things  now  stand,  the  mass 
of  mankind  are  capable,  or  can  be  rendered  capa- 
ble, of  using  their  own  understandings  safely  and 
usefully,  without  the  guidance  of  another,  is  far 
from  being  the  fact.  But  that  the  road  to  self- 
culture  is  now  opened  to  them,  and  that  the  obsta- 
cles to  an  universal  enlightenment,  or  to  an  eman- 
cipation from  a  self-imposed  pupilage,  are  gradually 
becoming  fewer,  we  have  clear  and  abundant  indi- 
cations. In  this  sense  this  is  the  age  of  enlighten- 
ment,—  the  age  of  Frederic. 

A  prince  who  does  not  disdain  to  declare  that  he 
esteems  it  his  duty  to  prescribe  nothing  to  men  in 
matters  of  religion,  and  who,  leaving  them  full  free- 
dom of  opinion,  rejects  the  arrogant  name  of  tol- 
eration, is  himself  enlightened  :  he  deserves  to  be 
esteemed  by  a  grateful  world  and  by  posterity  as 
the  first  who  released  the  human  race  from  pupilage 
(in  so  far,  at  least,  as  it  is  in  the  power  of  govern- 


237 


ments  to  do  so),  and  left  every  one  free  to  follow 
the  guidance  of  his  own  reason  in  matters  of  con- 
science. Nor  is  the  benefit  confined  to  his  own 
subjects  ;  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry  has  much  less 
opposition  to  encounter,  now  that  men  have  before 
them  a  proof  that  the  public  tranquillity  and  the 
union  of  society  are  not  in  the  slightest  degree  en- 
dangered by  its  diffusion.  Men  gradually  extricate 
themselves  from  a  state  of  barbarism,  if  they  are 
not  purposely  and  artificially  kept  in  it. 

In  considering  the  enlightenment  by  which  men 
emerge  from  their  self-imposed  pupilage,  I  have 
insisted  mainly  on  religion  ;  because  in  science 
and  art  rulers  have  no  interest  in  assuming  the 
part  of  guardians  over  their  subjects  ;  and  because 
pupilage  in  this  matter  is  not  only  the  most  mis- 
chievous, but  the  most  degrading  of  any.  But  the 
views  of  an  enlightened  ruler  go  still  further,  and 
tend  to  this,  —  that  even  as  regards  his  govern- 
ment, there  is  no  danger  in  allowing  his  subjects  to 
make  a  public  use  of  their  own  reason,  and  frankly 
to  lay  before  the  world  their  opinions  as  to  any 
practicable  improvements  in  it,  or  their  criticisms 
of  its  present  state  and  acts  ;  —  of  this  we  have 
before  us  a  splendid  and  hitherto  unequalled  ex- 
ample. 

But  it  is  only  a  monarch  too  enlightened  to  trem- 
ble at  shadows,  and  having  at  his  disposal  a  well- 
disciplined  army  as  a  security  for  the  public  peace, 


238 


who  can  say,  —  what  a  popular  government  could 
not  venture  to  say,  —  "Reason  as  much  as  you 
will,  and  on  what  you  will,  —  but  obey."  And 
here  we  find  a  strange  and  unexpected  contradic- 
tion in  human  affairs,  which  indeed,  when  regarded 
as  a  whole,  are  full  of  paradoxes.  A  higher  degree 
of  civil  freedom  would  appear  favorable  to  freedom 
of  opinion,  yet  does,  in  fact,  impose  insuperable 
barriers  to  it  ;  while  a  lower  degree,  on  the  con- 
trary, gives  opinion  room  to  diffuse  itself.  But 
when,  under  the  protection  of  a  strong  government, 
the  desire  and  the  duty  of  free  thought  has  devel- 
oped itself,  it  gradually  renders  the  people  more 
capable  of  political  freedom.  Finally,  it  influences 
the  principles  of  the  government  itself,  which  finds 
it  conducive  to  its  own  interest  and  prosperity  to 
treat  men  in  a  manner  consonant  to  the  dignity  of 
their  nature. 

Kant.    (Kleine  Schriften.) 


EXTRACT  FROM  THE  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  HISTORY 
OF  THE   REVOLT   OF  THE  NETHERLANDS. 

The  establishment  of  freedom  in  the  Netherlands 
appears  to  me  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  those 
political  events  which  distinguished  the  sixteenth 
century.  If  the  glittering  deeds  inspired  by  the 
lust  of  fame  and  dominion  claim  our  admiration, 


239 


how  much  more  does  a  conflict,  in  which  oppressed 
humanity  strove  for  its  noblest  rights  ;  in  which 
the  good  cause  was  sustained  by  unequalled  vigor, 
and  the  weapons  of  resolute  despair  prevailed,  in 
an  unequal  struggle  against  the  fearful  arts  of  tyr- 
anny !  Grand  and  tranquillizing  is  the  thought, 
that  there  exists  a  check  to  the  arrogant  preten- 
sions of  princes  ;  that  their  best-laid  plans  are 
wrecked  on  the  steadfast  love  of  freedom  ;  that  the 
intrepid  resistance  of  a  people  can  beat  down  the 
outstretched  arm  of  a  despot,  and  heroic  persist- 
ency can  exhaust  his  most  formidable  resources. 

Never  have  I  been  so  forcibly  struck  with  this 
truth  as  in  contemplating  the  history  of  that  memo- 
rable revolt  which  for  ever  severed  the  United 
Netherlands  from  the  crown  of  Spain  ;  and  there- 
fore I  have  thought  the  attempt  not  unprofitable,  to 
place  before  the  world  this  noble  monument  of  civil 
strength,  with  a  view  to  awaken  in  the  breast  of 
my  reader  an  animating  feeling  of  his  own  dignity, 
and  to  exhibit  a  new  and  incontestable  example  of 
what  men  can  dare  for  the  good  cause,  —  of  what 
they  can  accomplish  by  union. 

It  is  not  the  romantic  or  the  heroic  character  of 
this  event  which  has  led  me  to  describe  it.  The 
annals  of  the  world  contain  records  of  similar 
achievements  which  appear  still  more  daring  in 
conception,  still  more  brilliant  in  execution.  Many 
states  have  fallen  with  a  sudden  and  splendid  ruin  ; 


240 


others  have  risen  with  a  no  less  rapid  and  brilliant 
elevation.  Nor  are  we  here  to  expect  any  of  those 
prominent  and  colossal  figures,  any  of  those  as- 
tounding deeds,  which  the  history  of  ancient  time 
presents  us  with.  Those  times  are  past, — those 
men  exist  no  longer.  The  people  whom  we  shall 
here  behold  on  the  scene  were  the  most  peaceful  in 
the  world,  and  less  capable  than  their  neighbours 
of  that  heroic  spirit  which  gives  a  loftier  character 
even  to  the  most  trivial  action.  The  pressure  of 
circumstances  surprised  them  with  its  own  peculiar 
might,  and  forced  upon  them  a  transient  greatness 
which  they  did  not  seem  formed  to  display,  and 
will  probably  never  display  again.  It  is  therefore 
precisely  the  want  of  heroic  grandeur  which  renders 
the  event  so  singular  and  so  instructive  ;  and  while 
others  make  it  their  aim  to  show  the  superiority  of 
genius  to  accident,  I  design  to  exhibit  a  picture  in 
which  necessity  created  genius,  and  accident  made 
heroes. 

Were  it  ever  allowable,  in  treating  of  human 
things,  to  assert  the  interposition  of  a  higher  provi- 
dence, it  would  be  so  with  regard  to  this  passage 
of  history,  so  completely  does  it  seem  to  contradict 
reason  and  experience.  Philip  the  Second  was  the 
mightiest  sovereign  of  his  time  :  his  dreaded  power 
threatened  to  overwhelm  all  Europe  ;  his  treasures 
outnumbered  those  of  the  combined  monarchs  of 
Christendom  ;  his  fleets  rode  triumphant  over  every 


241 


sea  ;  his  tyrannous  and  ambitious  projects  were 
seconded  by  countless  armies,  —  armies  which, 
hardened  by  long  and  bloody  wars  and  by  a  Ro- 
man discipline,  intoxicated  with  national  pride  and 
heated  with  the  memory  of  successful  battles, 
thirsted  for  glory  and  for  plunder,  and  obeyed  ev- 
ery impulse  given  to  them  by  the  daring  genius  of 
their  leader,  —  that  formidable  man  devoted  to  the 
execution  of  a  relentless  project  which  formed  the 
unwearied  labor  of  his  long  regency.  All  these 
resources  were  directed  to  a  single  object,  and  this 
object  Philip  was  compelled  in  the  evening  of  his 
days  to  abandon. 

Philip  the  Second  in  conflict  with  a  few  feeble 
provinces  and  unable  to  terminate  that  conflict  ! 

And  with  what  provinces  ?  Here,  a  peaceful 
population  of  fishermen  and  shepherds,  in  a  forgot- 
ten corner  of  Europe,  which  it  had  laboriously  won 
from  the  waves  ;  —  the  sea  at  once  its  occupation, 
its  wealth,  and  its  calamity, — a  free  poverty  its 
highest  good,  its  glory  and  its  virtue.  There  a 
good-natured  and  orderly  trading  people,  revelling 
in  the  fruits  of  successful  industry,  watchful  in  the 
maintenance  of  beneficent  laws.  In  the  happy 
leisure  of  competence  they  emerged  from  the  nar- 
row circle  of  anxious  cares,  and  learned  to  thirst 
after  higher  enjoyments.  The  new  truth,  whose 
glad  dawn  now  broke  over  Europe,  cast  a  fructify- 
ing ray  on  this  favoring  soil  ;  —  free  citizens  joy- 


242 


fully  received  the  light  from  which  slaves  averted 
their  eyes  

 Simple  in  their  policy  as  in  their  manners, 

they  ventured  to  point  to  an  antiquated  contract, 
and  to  remind  the  lord  of  both  Indies  of  their  rights. 
A  name  decided  the  whole  issue  of  the  thing.  That 
which  in  Brussels  was  called  lawful  petition,  in 
Madrid  was  called  rebellion  ;  the  troubles  in  Bra- 
bant demanded  a  prudent  mediator,  —  Philip  sent 
an  executioner,  and  the  signal  for  war  was  given. 
A  tyranny  without  example  assailed  life  and  prop- 
erty. The  despairing  citizen,  to  whom  nothing 
was  left  but  the  choice  of  a  death,  preferred  the 
nobler  on  the  field  of  battle.  An  opulent  luxu- 
rious people  loves  peace,  but  in  proportion  as  it  is 
impoverished  it  becomes  warlike  ;  it  ceases  to 
tremble  for  a  life  robbed  of  every  thing  which  can 
render  life  desirable.  The  fury  of  rebellion  ex- 
tends to  the  remotest  provinces,  manufactures  and 
commerce  are  prostrate,  the  ships  disappear  from 
the  ports,  the  artisan  from  his  workshop,  the  hus- 
bandman from  the  untitled  fields.  Thousands  flee 
to  foreign  lands,  thousands  fall  victims  on  the  scaf- 
fold, and  thousands  press  again  to  fill  the  vacant 
ranks,  persuaded  that  the  doctrine  for  which  men 
can  die  so  triumphantly  must  needs  be  divine. 

There  is  yet  wanting  the  last  hand  to  complete 
the  work,  —  the  cle^r  and  enterprising  spirit  which 
watched  for  the  great  political  moment,  and  im- 


243 


proved  the  offspring  of  chance  into  the  plan  of 
wisdom. 

William  the  Taciturn  * 

#  #  *  #  # 

The  history  of  the  world  is  consistent  with  itself 
as  the  laws  of  nature,  and  single  as  the  soul  of 
man. 

The  same  conditions  bring  back  the  same  events. 
On  this  very  soil,  where  the  Netherlander  now  of- 
fered resistance  to  their  Spanish  tyrant,  fifteen 
hundred  years  before  did  their  ancestors,  the  Ba- 
tavi  and  the  Belgae,  engage  in  fierce  and  stubborn 
conflict  with  those  of  Rome.  Like  them  the  un- 
willing subjects  of  a  haughty  ruler,  like  them  a 
prey  to  rapacious  satraps,  they  cast  away  their  fet- 
ters with  the  same  disdain,  and  tempted  the  fortune 
of  as  unequal  a  field.  The  same  pride  of  conquest, 
the  same  assumption  of  superiority  in  the  Spaniard 
of  the  sixteenth  century  and  in  the  Roman  of  the 
first  ;  the  same  valor  in  either  army,  the  same  ter- 
ror of  their  invading  troops.  Then,  as  now,  we 
see  cunning  contend  with  despotism,  and  constan- 
cy sustained  by  union  weary  out  a  gigantic  power 
enfeebled  by  dispersion.  Then,  as  now,  private 
hate  armed  a  nation  ;  a  single  man,  born  for  his 
age,  revealed  to  her  the  awful  secret  of  her 
strength,  and  gave  to  her  mute  discontent  a  bloody 
utterance. 

"  Say,  Batavi,"  said  Claudius  Civilis  to  his 


244 


countrymen  in  the  sacred  grove,  "  are  we  still 
treated  by  these  Romans  as  allies  and  friends,  or 
rather  as  useful  slaves  ?  We  are  given  over  to 
their  officers  and  agents,  and  these,  when  they  are 
sated  with  our  spoils  and  our  blood,  are  replaced 
by  others,  who  repeat  the  same  acts  of  violence 
and  rapacity  under  new  names.  If  it  ever  hap- 
pens that  Rome  sends  us  a  governor,  he  oppresses 
us  with  a  pompous  and  costly  retinue  and  with  a 
yet  more  insufferable  arrogance.  The  levies  are 
at  hand  again,  which  tear  children  from  their  pa- 
rents, and  brothers  from  brothers  for  ever.  Now, 
Batavi,  the  moment  is  yours.  Never  was  Rome 
so  enfeebled  as  now.  Let  not  the  name  of  legions 
strike  terror  into  you,  —  their  camp  contains  only 
old  men  and  booty.  We  have  foot-soldiers  and 
horsemen.  Germany  is  ours,  and  Gaul  burns  to 
throw  off  her  yoke.  Let  Syria  serve  them,  and 
Asia,  and  the  East,  .patient  of  kings.  There  are 
still  among  us  many  who  were  born  before  Gaul 
paid  tribute  to  Rome.  The  gods  are  on  the  side 
of  the  bravest."  * 

Peaceful  sacraments  sanctified  this  conspiracy, 
as  they  did  that  of  the  Gueux,  and  like  that,  it  art- 
fully sheltered  itself  under  the  veil  of  subordination, 
under  the  majesty  of  a  great  name.  The  cohorts 
of  Civilis  on  the  Rhine  took  the  oath  to  Vespasian 
in  Syria,  as  the  Compromissi  did  to  Philip  the  Sec- 

*  Tacitus,  Hist.,  IV.  V. 


245 


ond  in  Spain.  The  same  field  of  warfare  produced 
the  same  plan  of  defence,  —  the  same  last  refuge  of 
despair.  Both  committed  their  desperate  fortunes 
to  a  succouring  element.  Civilis  saved  his  island, 
as,  fifteen  hundred  years  later,  William  of  Orange 
saved  the  city  of  Leyden,  by  an  artificial  inunda- 
tion. The  valor  of  the  Batavi  revealed  the  impo- 
tence of  the  ruler  of  the  world,  as  the  magnificent 
courage  of  their  posterity  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of 
all  Europe  the  decay  of  the  Spanish  power.  The 
same  fertility  of  mind  in  the  leaders  of  either  age 
rendered  the  war  equally  obstinate,  and  its  close 
equally  doubtful.  One  difference,  however,  strikes 
us  :  the  Romans  and  the  Batavi  warred  with  hu- 
manity, for  they  warred  not  for  religion. 

Schiller.  (Abfall  der  Niederlande.) 


SCENES  FROM  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  EGMONT. 

ACT  I.  SCENE  H. 

The  Regent's  Palace  5  Margaret  of  Parma  in  a  hunting-dress  5 
Courtiers,  Pages,  Servants. 

Regent.  —  Send  away  the  horses  and  huntsmen  ; 
I  shall  not  ride  to-day.  Tell  Machiavelli  to  come 
to  me.  [Exeunt  omnes. 

The  thought  of  these  dreadful  events  leaves  me 
no  peace.  Nothing  gladdens  me,  —  nothing  amus- 
es me.  Fearful  images  and  anxious  forebodings 
are  ever  with  me.  The  king  will  say  that  these 
17 


246 


are  the  consequences  of  my  leniency,  —  my  con- 
nivance ;  and  yet  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I 
did  what  was  most  expedient  and  best.  Ought  I 
to  have  fanned  these  flames,  and  scattered  them 
abroad  with  the  tempest  of  wrath  ?  I  hoped  to  turn 
their  course,  —  to  allow  them  to  burn  out.  Yes, 

—  the  reasons  which  have  swayed  me,  the  facts 
which  have  come  to  my  knowledge,  justify  me  to 
myself ;  but  how  will  my  brother  view  them  ?  For 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  insolence  of  the  for- 
eign teachers  has  daily  increased  ;  they  have  blas- 
phemed our  holiest  rites,  they  have  bewildered  the 
stupid  and  the  ignorant,  and  have  turned  the  heads 
of  the  populace.  Unclean  spirits  have  mingled 
with  these  troublers  of  the  peace,  these  preachers 
of  sedition,  and  deeds  have  been  committed  which 
are  fearful  to  think  upon,  and  of  which  I  must  now 
report  some  to  the  court,  promptly  and  distinctly, 
that  common  fame  may  not  outrun  my  messenger, 

—  that  the  king  may  not  think  there  is  yet  more 
behind  which  I  seek  to  conceal.  I  can  discover  no 
means,  —  neither  severe  nor  mild,  —  to  remove  or 
avert  the  evil.  O  what  are  we  great  ones  on  this 
stormy  sea  of  life  ?  We  think  we  rule  its  tides,  — 
and  we  are  but  its  sport,  tossed  hither  and  thither 
by  every  wave. 

(Enter  Machiavdli.) 
Regent.  —  Are  the  letters  to  the  king  written  ? 
Machiavelli.  — In  an  hour  they  may  be  signed. 


247 


Regent.  —  Have  you  made  the  report  sufficiently 
distinct  and  circumstantial  ? 

Machiavelli.  —  Circumstantial  and  minute,  —  as 
the  king  likes  to  have  them.  I  have  related  how 
the  iconoclast  fury  first  broke  out  at  St.  Omer  ; 
how  a  fierce  multitude  with  staves  and  hatchets, 
hammers,  ladders  and  cords,  accompanied  by  a  few 
armed  men,  first  attacked  the  chapels,  churches, 
and  convents,  drove  out  the  pious  worshippers, 
broke  open  the  doors,  tore  down  the  altars,  de- 
stroyed the  statues  of  the  saints,  defaced  the  pic- 
tures ;  ruined,  dashed  in  pieces,  and  trod  under 
foot  whatever  fell  in  their  way  that  was  consecrated 
and  holy  ;  how  the  crowd  increased  as  it  proceeded 
on  its  course,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Ypres  opened 
their  gates  to  it  ;  how  they  laid  waste  the  cathedral 
and  burned  the  library  of  the  bishop  with  incredible 
rapidity  ;  how  a  great  multitude  of  people,  inflamed 
with  a  like  madness,  spread  themselves  abroad 
through  Menin,  Comines,  Verwich,  and  Lille,  and 
found  no  resistance  ;  and  how  throughout  nearly 
the  whole  of  Flanders  the  monstrous  conspiracy 
burst  forth,  and  was  in  activity  in  a  moment. 

Regent.  —  O,  how  are  all  my  griefs  renewed  at 
your  recital  !  And  now  they  are  aggravated  by  the 
fear  that  the  evil  will  become  greater  and  greater. 
Tell  me  your  thoughts,  Machiavel. 

Machiavelli.  —  Your  highness  will  excuse  me. 
My  thoughts  are  too  like  dreams,  —  fancies  ;  and 


248 


though  you  have  ever  been  satisfied  with  my  ser- 
vices, you  have  seldom  been  willing  to  follow  my 
advice.  You  have  often  said  in  jest,  "You  see  too 
far,  Machiavel,  —  you  should  be  a  writer  of  his- 
tory ;  people  who  have  to  act  must  provide  for  the 
emergency  of  the  moment."  And  yet  did  I  not 
foretell  all  this  tremendous  history  ?  Did  I  not 
foresee  it  all  ? 

Regent.  —  I  can  foresee  many  things  which  I  can 
neither  alter  nor  avert. 

Machiavelli.  —  In  one  word  then, — you  will  not 
suppress  the  new  religion.  Tolerate  it,  —  recog- 
nise it,  — sever  its  professors  from  those  of  the  true 
faith  ;  give  them  churches,  include  them  within  the 
pale  of  civil  order  and  authority,  and  you  will  at 
once  reduce  the  rebels  to  quiet.  All  other  expedi- 
ents are  vain,  and  you  devastate  the  land. 

Regent.  —  Do  you  forget  with  what  horror  my 
brother  rejected  the  very  question  whether  the  new 
religion  might  be  tolerated  ?  Do  you  not  know 
that  every  letter  of  his  contains  the  most  earnest 
exhortations  to  me  to  uphold  the  true  faith  ?  that 
he  will  not  hear  of  peace  or  unity  which  are  to  be 
purchased  at  the  expense  of  religion  ?  Does  he 
not  maintain,  even  in  the  provinces,  spies  whom  we 
know  not  of,  to  report  to  him  who  inclines  to  the 
new  opinions  ?  Has  he  not,  to  our  amazement, 
named  to  us  individuals  living  here  under  our  own 
eye,  who  were  privily  guilty  of  heresy  ?    Does  he 


249 


not  enjoin  severity  and  rigor  ?  And  am  I  to  be  in- 
dulgent ?  Am  I  to  offer  him  counsels  of  leniency 
and  toleration  ?  Should  I  not  lose  all  his  confi- 
dence in  me,  —  all  his  reliance  upon  me  ? 

Machiavelli.  —  I  know  it  well.  The  king  com- 
mands, and  informs  you  fully  of  his  views.  You 
are  to  restore  peace  and  tranquillity  by  means 
which  must  increase  the  general  exasperation,  — 
which  must  inevitably  kindle  war  in  every  corner 
of  the  land.  Think  what  you  are  doing.  The  great 
merchants  are  infected,  —  the  nobles,  the  people, 
the  soldiers.  What  boots  it  to  cling  pertinaciously 
to  our  own  opinion  when  all  changes  around  us  ? 
O,  that  some  good  spirit  would  but  whisper  to 
Philip,  that  it  is  nobler  for  a  king  to  rule  over  sub- 
jects of  two  different  religions,  than  to  convert  them 
into  instruments  of  mutual  annoyance  and  destruc- 
tion ! 

Regent. — Let  me  never  hear  a  word  like  that 
again.  I  know  full  well  that  policy  can  seldom  hold 
faith  and  truth  ;  that  it  banishes  frankness,  kindli- 
ness, forbearance,  and  generosity  from  the  heart. 
In  temporal  affairs  this  is,  alas  !  too  true  ;  but  are 
we  to  sport  with  God  as  we  do  with  each  other  ? 
Are  we  to  be  indifferent  to  our  established  faith, 
for  which  so  many  lives  have  been  sacrificed  ?  Are 
we  to  yield  it  up  to  these  intruders,  these  uncertain 
and  self-contradicting  innovators  ? 


250 


Machiavelli. — Do  not  think  the  worse  of  me,  I 
beseech  you. 

Regent.  —  I  know  you  and  your  fidelity,  and  I 
know  that  a  man  may  be  honest  and  intelligent, 
even  though  he  may  have  missed  the  straight  and 
better  way  to  secure  the  salvation  of  his  soul. 
There  are  other  men  beside  you,  Machiavel,  whom 
I  am  compelled  at  once  to  respect  and  to  blame. 

Machiavelli.  —  To  whom  do  you  allude  ? 

Regent.  —  I  must  confess  that  Egmont  has  to-day 
inflicted  on  me  the  severest  pain. 

Machiavelli. — By  what  ? 

Regent.  — By  nothing  new,  —  by  the  indifference 
and  levity  of  his  manner.  I  received  the  most 
fearful  tidings  just  as  I  left  the  church,  accompanied 
by  him  and  by  many  others.  I  could  not  restrain 
my  grief ;  I  gave  way  to  complaints  loud  and  deep, 
and  turning  to  him,  I  said,  "  See  what  is  taking 
place  in  your  province  !  Do  you  suffer  this,  Count, 
you,  in  whom  the  king  placed  such  boundless 
trust  ?  " 

Machiavelli.  —  And  what  did  he  reply  ? 

Regent.  — As  if  it  were  nothing,  —  a  trifling  in- 
cident, —  he  said,  "  I  wish  the  Netherlanders  were 
but  tranquillized  about  your  government  !  All  the 
rest  would  be  easily  settled." 

Machiavelli.  —  Perhaps  he  spoke  with  more  truth 
than  prudence  or  piety.  How  is  it  possible  that 
confidence  can  arise  or  endure  while  the  Nether- 


251 


lander  sees  that  it  is  his  suhstance  rather  than  his 
welfare  or  his  salvation  that  is  so  eagerly  coveted  ? 
Do  the  souls  saved  by  the  new  bishops  outnumber 
the  fat  benefices  they  have  clutched  and  revelled 
in  ?  And  are  they  not  almost  all  foreigners  ?  The 
lieutenancies  of  all  the  provinces  are  as  yet  filled 
by  Netherlanders  ;  let  not  the  Spaniards  show  too 
clearly  their  greedy,  insatiable  longing  for  those 
places.  Will  not  a  people  rather  be  governed  ac- 
cording to  its  own  usages,  and  by  its  own  country- 
men, than  by  strangers  to  the  soil,  who  seek  to 
possess  themselves  of  it  at  the  cost  of  all, — who 
try  every  thing  by  a  foreign  standard,  and  who  rule 
without  kindliness  or  sympathy  ? 

Regent.  —  You  take  the  side  of  our  enemies. 

Machiavelli  —  My  heart  is  certainly  not  on  their 
side  ;  would  that  my  reason  were  wholly  on  ours  ! 

Regent.  —  If  you  counsel,  or  necessity  enjoins  it, 
I  will  resign  my  regency,  for  both  Egmont  and 
Orange  cherish  high  hopes  of  obtaining  that  post. 
They  would  then  be  rivals  ;  now  they  are  allied 
against  me,  and  are  become  friends,  —  inseparable 
friends. 

Machiavelli.  —  A  dangerous  pair. 

Regent.  —  To  be  plain  with  you,  I  fear  Orange, 
—  I  fear  for  Egmont.  Orange  meditates  no  good. 
His  thoughts  are  too  far-reaching  ;  he  is  secret, 
appears  to  assent  to  every  thing,  never  contradicts, 
and  with  the  profoundest  respect,  with  the  most 


252 


infinite  care  not  to  offend,  he  does  what  pleases 
him. 

Machiavclli. — Egmont,  on  the  contrary,  walks 
with  as  free  and  firm  a  tread  as  if  the  world  were 
his  own. 

Regent.  —  He  bears  his  head  as  high  as  if  the 
hand  of  majesty  were  not  above  him. 

Machiavelli.  —  The  eyes  of  the  people  are  all 
turned  to  him  ;  on  him  hang  all  their  hearts. 

Regent. — Never  did  he  abstain  from  an  act  be- 
cause its  appearance  might  offend  others  or  preju- 
dice himself ;  —  as  if  there  lived  not  the  man  who 
could  call  him  to  account  for  aught  he  did.  He 
still  retains  the  name  of  Egmont,  —  Count  Egmont, 
he  loves  to  hear  himself  called,  —  as  if  he  disdained 
to  forget  that  his  ancestors  were  possessors  of  Guel- 
dres.  Why  does  he  not  call  himself  Prince  of 
Gaure,  —  his  proper  title  ?  What  is  his  purpose  in 
this  ?    Does  he  mean  to  revive  forgotten  claims  ? 

Machiavelli.  —  I  hold  him  for  a  faithful  servant 
of  the  king. 

Regent.  —  How  valuable  he  might  render  himself 
to  the  government,  if  he  would  !  instead  of  which 
he  has  given  us  unspeakable  vexation,  and  without 
profit  to  himself.  His  festivals  and  banquets  have 
knit  the  hearts  of  the  nobles  to  him  in  stronger 
bonds  than  all  the  perilous  oaths  of  secret  societies. 
His  guests  have  drunk  in  with  his  toasts  a  perpetual 
excitement, — a  lasting  intoxication.    How  often 


253 


does  he  move  the  hearts  of  the  people  by  his  jests  ! 
How  the  mob  were  startled  at  the  new  liveries,  and 
the  absurd  badges  of  his  people  ! 

Machiavelli.  —  I  am  persuaded  he  had  no  evil 
design. 

Regent.  —  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  thing  is  bad 
enough.  As  I  said,  it  injures  us  and  does  not  serve 
him.  What  is  serious  he  treats  as  a  jest,  and  we, 
not  to  appear  supine  and  negligent,  must  treat  his 
jests  as  serious.  Thus  does  the  one  irritate  the 
other,  and  what  we  seek  to  avert  becomes  fixed  and 
inevitable.  He  is  more  dangerous  than  a  declared 
head  of  a  conspiracy,  and  I  am  greatly  mistaken  if 
all  that  has  happened  is  not  attributed  to  him  at 
court.  I  cannot  deny  that  he  is  very  rarely  long 
without  giving  me  some  fresh  cause  of  bitter  irri- 
tation. 

Machiavelli.  —  He  seems  to  me  to  act  in  all 
things  according  to  his  conscience. 

Regent.  —  His  conscience  has  a  very  flattering 
mirror.  His  manner  is  often  offensive.  His  very 
look  often  seems  to  bespeak  an  entire  and  intimate 
persuasion  that  he  is  master,  and  abstains  from 
making  us  feel  it  only  out  of  condescension  and 
politeness  ;  as  if  he  would  not  absolutely  drive  us 
out  of  the  country,  but  that  it  must  come  to  that. 

Machiavelli.  —  I  entreat  you,  interpret  not  his 
frank  carriage,  his  joyous  and  debonnaire  nature, 
that  treats  every  thing  lightly,  too  perilously.  You 
injure  him  and  yourselves. 


254 


Regent.  —  I  interpret  nothing.  I  speak  only  of 
inevitable  results,  and  I  know  him.  His  high 
Netherland  blood  and  the  Golden  Fleece  upon  his 
breast,  increase  his  confidence  and  audacity.  Both 
may  protect  him  from  any  sudden  capricious  dis- 
gust of  the  king's.  Examine  well  into  the  facts,  — 
you  will  find  that  he  alone  is  responsible  for  all  the 
misery  that  has  befallen  Flanders.  He  first  con- 
nived at  the  presence  of  the  foreign  teachers,  treat- 
ed their  proceedings  lightly,  and  perhaps  rejoiced 
that  we  had  so  much  employment  on  our  hands. 
Let  me  speak  freely  ;  —  on  this  occasion  I  will 
give  vent  to  all  I  have  on  my  heart,  and  I  will  not 
shoot  my  arrow  in  the  air.  I  know  his  sensitive 
point,  —  he  is  sensitive. 

Machiavelli.  —  Have  you  convened  the  Coun- 
cil ?    Will  Orange  attend  ? 

Regent.  — I  have  sent  to  Antwerp  for  him.  I  will 
throw  their  full  share  of  the  responsibility  upon 
them  ;  they  shall  either  lend  me  their  earnest  aid 
to  resist  this  evil,  or  openly  join  the  rebels.  Make 
haste  to  finish  the  letters  and  bring  them  to  me  to 
sign.  Then  despatch  the  trusty  Vasca  to  Madrid  ; 
he  is  as  faithful  as  he  is  indefatigable,  and  it  is  im- 
portant that  my  brother  should  learn  the  intelli- 
gence first  from  him,  that  common  fame  may  not 
outstrip  him.  I  will  speak  to  hiirf  myself  before  he 
departs. 

Machiavelli.  — Your  highness's  commands  shall 
be  promptly  and  punctually  obeyed. 


255 


ACT  III.    SCENE  II. 
Clara's  House  5  Clara  and  her  Mother. 
Mother.  —  Such  a  love  as  Brackenburg's  I  nev- 
er saw.    I  did  not  believe  there  were  such,  except 
in  romance  books. 

( Clara  walks  up  and  down  the  room,  humming 
an  air  between  her  lips.) 
"  Happy  alone 
Is  the  soul  that  loves." 
Mother.  —  He  suspects  your  love  for  Egmont, 
and  yet  I  do  believe,  if  you  would  but  appear  a 
little  kind  to  him,  he  would  marry  you,  if  you 
would  have  him. 
Clara  (singing), 
«  To  be  full  of  joy, 
And  of  sorrow, 

And  of  thick-coming  thoughts  ; 
To  float  painfully 
From  passionate  longing 
To  anxious  fear; 

Now  sending  shouts  of  exultation  to  the  skies, 

Now  sad  unto  death, — 

Happy  alone 

Is  the  soul  that  loves."* 

Mother.  —  Leave  off  that  rockaby-baby  stuff. 
Clara.  — Don't  despise  it  ;  it  is  a  song  of  won- 

*I  had  hoped,  by  the  kind  assistance  of  some  poetical  friend, 
to  be  able  to  enrich  my  pages  with  a  metrical  translation  of  this 
song  3  but  it  has  as  yet  eluded  every  hand,  however  practised  and 
successful,  that  has  tried  to  grasp  it.  I  am  therefore  forced  to 
content  myself  with  the  most  accurate  version  I  can  give.  — 
Translator. 


256 


derful  virtue.  Many 's  the  time  I  have  lulled  a 
great  child  to  sleep  with  it. 

Mother.  —  Ay,  you  have  nothing  in  your  head 
but  your  love  ;  I  wish  you  did  not  forget  all  for 
one.  You  ought  to  have  more  respect  for  Brack- 
enburg,  say  I.  He  may  make  you  happy  some 
day  or  other. 

Clara.  —  He  ? 

Mother.  —  O,  yes  !  there  '11  come  a  time  ;  — 
you  children  don't  look  forward,  and  you  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  our  experience.  Youth  and  bright 
love,  —  all  come  to  an  end,  and  the  time  comes 
when  we  thank  God  if  we  have  any  hole  to  creep 
into. 

Clara  (shudders,  is  silent,  and  walks  away).  — 
Mother,  let  that  time  come,  —  when  it  must,  — like 
death.  To  think  of  it  beforehand  is  horrible  !  And 
if  it  should  come,  —  if  we  must,  — then,  — we  will 
bear  ourselves  as  we  may.  Egmont,  I  live  with- 
out thee  ?    (Weeping.)    No,  never,  —  never. 

{Enter  Egmont  in  a  soldier's  cloak,  with  his  hat 
slouched  over  his  face.) 

Clara  ! 

(Clara  cries  out  and  steps  back.)  —  Egmont  ! 
(she  flies  to  him,)  Egmont  !  (embraces  him  and  rests 
her  head  on  his  boso7n.)  O  you  kind,  dear,  sweet 
one  !    Are  you  come  ?    Are  you  there  ? 

Egmont.  —  Good  evening,  good  mother. 

Mother.  —  God  bless  you,  noble  Sir.    My  poor 


257 


child  has  nearly  fretted  herself  to  death  because 
you  have  stayed  away  so  long.  She  has  been  talk- 
ing and  singing  about  you  again,  the  live-long  day. 

Egmont.  —  But  you  will  give  me  some  supper, 
won't  you  ? 

Mother.  —  You  do  us  too  much  honor.  If  we 
had  but  any  thing  to  offer  you,  — 

Clara.  —  Be  at  ease  about  that,  mother.  I  have 
taken  care  of  all  that  already.  I  have  prepared 
something.    [Aside.)    Don't  betray  me,  mother. 

Mother.  —  (Aside.)    There 's  little  enough. 

Clara.  —  (Aside.)  Stay.  — And  then,  —  when 
he  is  with  me  I  am  never  hungry,  so  that  I  think  he 
cannot  have  much  appetite  when  I  am  with  him. 

Egmont.  — What  are  you  saying  ? 

( Clara  stamps  with  her  foot,  and  turns  away 
pettishly.) 

Egmont.  —  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

Clara.  —  How  cold  you  are  to-day  !  You  have 
not  offered  me  one  kiss  yet.  Why  do  you  keep 
your  arms  swathed  in  your  mantle,  like  those  of  a 
babe  a  week  old.  It  ill  becomes  either  soldier  or 
lover  to  have  his  arms  muffled. 

Egmont.  —  Sometimes,  darling,  sometimes;  when 
the  soldier  stands  in  ambush,  watching  to  fall  upon 
the  enemy,  he  gathers  himself  together,  folds  his 
arms,  and  ruminates  on  his  attack.  And  a  lover,  — 

Mother.  —  Won't  you  be  seated  ?  won't  you 
make  yourself  comfortable  ?    I  must  go  into  the 


258 

kitchen.  Clara  thinks  of  nothing  when  you  are  by. 
You  must  take  the  will  for  the  deed. 

Egmont.  —  Your  good  will  is  the  best  sauce. 

[Mother  goes. 

Clara.  —  And  what  then  is  my  love  ? 

Egmont.  —  Whatever  you  please. 

Clara.  —  Come,  liken  it  to  something,  if  you 
have  the  heart. 

Egmont.  —  First,  —  there,  —  (throws  off  his  man- 
tle and  stands  disclosed  in  his  splendid  dress). 

Clara.  —  Ah  me  ! 

Egmont.  — Now  my  arms  are  free  !  (Clasps  her 
to  his  heart.) 

Clara.  —  Don't  ;  you  will  spoil  yourself.  (Steps 
back.)    How  splendid  !    I  dare  not  touch  you  now. 

Egmont.  —  Well,  are  you  satisfied  ?  I  promised 
you  that  I  would  come  once  dressed  in  the  Spanish 
fashion. 

Clara.  —  I  have  never  reminded  you  of  your 
promise.  I  thought  you  did  not  like  it.  Ah  !  and 
the  Golden  Fleece  ! 

Egmont.  —  Ay,  now  you  see  it. 

Clara.  —  And  did  the  Emperor  hang  that  round 
your  neck  ? 

Egmont.  —  Yes,  dear  child  ;  and  this  chain  and 
device  invest  their  wearer  with  the  noblest  privile- 
ges. I  acknowledge  no  judge  of  my  actions  on 
earth,  save  the  Grand-master  of  the  Order,  and  the 
assembled  chapter  of  knights. 


259 

Clara.  —  O,  you  might  let  the  assembled  world 
judge  you  !  How  magnificent  the  velvet  is  !  and 
the  fringe-work  !  and  the  embroidery  !  One  can't 
tell  where  to  begin. 

Egmont.  —  Well,  now  look  your  fill. 

Clara.  —  And  the  Golden  Fleece  !  You  told  me 
the  whole  story  ;  and  you  said  it  was  a  badge  of 
every  thing  grand  and  precious,  —  every  thing  that 
man  can  deserve  or  win  by  labor  and  industry.  It 
is  very  precious.  It  seems  to  me  like  your  love.  I 
bear  that,  just  so,  upon  my  heart,  —  and  yet,  — 

Egmont.  —  Well,  —  what  ? 

Clara.  —  And  yet,  —  again  it  is  not  like. 

Egmont.  —  How  so  ? 

Clara.  —  It  is  not  by  labor  or  pains  that  I  have 
won  your  love,  —  nor  deserved  it. 

Egmont.  —  In  love  the  case  is  different.  You 
deserved  it,  because  you  did  not  strive  for  it  ;  those 
people  are  generally  most  sure  to  win  love,  who  do 
not  hunt  about  for  it. 

Clara.  — Did  you  learn  that  from  yourself  ?  Was 
it  from  yourself  you  drew  that  proud  reflection  ? 
yourself,  whom  all  the  people  love  ? 

Egmont.  —  O  !  that  I  had,  indeed,  done  some- 
thing for  them  !  that  I  could  do  something  for  them  ! 
It  is  their  good  pleasure  to  love  me. 

Clara.  — You  have  been  with  the  Regent  to-day 
doubtless,  —  have  you  not  ? 

Egmont.  —  I  have. 


260 


Clara.  —  Are  you  on  good  terms  with  her  ? 

Egmont.  —  It  seems  so.  We  are  friendly  and 
civil  to  each  other. 

Clara.  —  And  in  your  heart  ? 

Egmont.  —  I  like  her.  Every  one  has  his  own 
peculiar  views, — but  that  is  nothing.  She  is  an 
excellent  woman,  knows  the  people  she  has  to  deal 
with,  and  would  see  deeply  enough  if  she  were  not 
somewhat  suspicious.  I  give  her  plenty  of  occu- 
pation ;  for  she  always  searches  for  some  mystery 
behind  my  conduct,  and  I  have  none. 

Clara.  —  What,  none  at  all  ? 

Egmont.  —  Why,  true,  dear,  —  one  little  excep- 
tion. All  wine  leaves  lees  in  the  cask,  if  it  stands 
long  enough.  Orange  is,  however,  a  more  inter- 
esting study  to  her,  and  an  ever  new  problem.  He 
has  got  credit  for  having  always  some  secret  de- 
sign, and  now  she  is  constantly  trying  to  read  on 
his  brow  what  he  is  thinking,  — in  his  step,  whither 
he  is  going. 

Clara.  — Does  she  dissemble  ? 

Egmont.  —  A  regent,  —  and  you  ask  that  ? 

Clara.  —  Pardon  me,  I  meant  is  she  false  ? 

Egmont. — Neither  more  nor  less  so  than  every 
one  who  seeks  to  obtain  his  ends. 

Clara.  —  I  should  not  know  what  to  do  in  the 
great  world.  But  she  has  a  manly  spirit  ;  she  is 
another  sort  of  woman  than  we  seamstresses  and 
housewives.    She  is  great,  brave-hearted,  resolute. 


261 


Egmont.  —  Yes,  perhaps  a  little  too  much  so  ; 
she  is  a  perfect  Amazon. 

Clara.  —  A  majestic  woman  !  I  should  dread  to 
come  into  her  presence. 

Egmoni.  — And  yet  you  are  not  generally  so  tim- 
id !  It  would  not  be  fear,  —  only  maidenly  shame. 
(Clara  casts  down  her  eyes,  takes  his  hand, 
and  leans  her  head  upon  him.) 

Egmont.  —  I  understand  you,  dear  girl! — you 
may  raise  your  eyes.    (He  kisses  her  eyes.) 

Clara.  —  Let  me  be  silent!  —  let  me  hold  you 
fast  !  —  let  me  gaze  in  your  eyes,  and  find  in  them 
every  thing,  —  comfort,  and  hope,  and  joy,  and  sor- 
row. (She  embraces,  and  looks  at  him.)  Tell  me, 
—  tell  me,  —  I  cannot  conceive  it,  —  are  you  Eg- 
mont ?  —  Count  Egmont  ?  — the  great  Egmont,  who 
is  so  famous,  whose  name  is  in  every  newspaper,  on 
whom  the  provinces  place  their  whole  reliance  ? 

Egmont.  —  No,  my  Clara,  I  am  not. 

Clara.  —  What  ? 

Egmont.  —  Look  you,  Clara,  —  let  me  sit  down. 
(He  sits  down,  —  she  kneels  before  him  on  a  Jootstool, 
leans  her  arms  on  his  knees,  and  looks  up  in  his  face.) 
That  Egmont  is  a  morose,  unbending,  cold  Eg- 
mont, compelled  to  shut  himself  up,  and  to  assume 
now  one  aspect,  and  now  another,  —  fretted,  mis- 
understood,—  constrained,  when  people  think  him 
gay  and  joyous,  —  beloved  by  a  people  which 
knows  not  what  it  wishes, — honored  and  exalted 
18 


262 


by  an  impracticable  multitude,  —  surrounded  by 
friends  to  whom  he  dares  not  commit  himself  unre- 
servedly, —  watched  by  men  who  would  avail  them- 
selves of  any  means  to  rival  him,  —  laboring  and 
toiling,  often  without  aim,  generally  without  re- 
ward, —  O,  let  me  not  say  how  it  fares  with  him, 
what  are  his  feelings  !  But  this  Egmont,  Clara,  the 
tranquil,  open,  happy,  —  beloved  and  understood 
by  the  best  of  hearts,  that  heart  which  he  fully  un- 
derstands, and  with  entire  love  and  confidence 
presses  to  his  own  —  (embracing  her)  —  this  is  your 
Egmont. 

Clara.  —  So,  —  let  me  die  !  The  world  has  no 
joy  after  this  ! 

Goethe. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


OF  THE 

AUTHORS. 


ARNDT  (MORITZ  ERNST). — Page  5. 

Professor  Arndt  was  born  in  1768,  in  the  island  of 
Riigen.  He  distinguished  himself  by  the  ardor  and  elo- 
quence with  which  he  incited  his  countrymen  to  throw  off 
the  French  yoke.  Some  of  his  "  Vaterlandslieder  "  are 
very  noble  and  spirited  lyrics.  They  breathe  a  hatred  to  the 
French  which  was  justifiable  then,  but  of  which  it  is  to  be 
hoped  we  shall  hear  no  more.  In  1818  he  was  appointed 
Professor  of  History  at  Bonn ;  but  in  the  following  year 
was  suspended  from  the  exercise  of  his  functions  on  the 
ground  of 4 '  demagogical  intrigues."  He  continued,  how- 
ever, to  live  there,  and  to  receive  his  salary. 

One  of  the  first  liberal  acts  of  the  present  king  of  Prus- 
sia (among  the  many  which  have  raised  high  the  hopes 
of  his  subjects)  was  to  reinstate  Arndt  in  his  chair.  This 
gave  rise  to  great  rejoicing  at  Bonn,  especially  among  that 
singular  Volkchen,  the  students,  who  greeted  him  with  the 
honors  always  decreed  to  popular  professors,  —  the  Fack- 
elzug  (torch  procession),  &c.  &c. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  venerable  man  again  at. 
Bonn  last  year  in  undiminished  vivacity  and  vigor.  His 
chief  works  are  "  deist  der  Zeit  "  (Spirit  of  the  Age),  and 


264 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


"Reisen  durch  Deutschland,  Ungarn.  Italien.  und  Frank- 
reich  "  (Travels  through  Germany.  Hungary.  Italy,  and 
France).  He  published  last  year  his  recollections  of  the 
part  he  took  in  stirring  up  Europe,  and  especially  Russia, 
to  that  combined  effort  which  ended  in  the  emancipation 
of  Prussia  (,;  Erinnerungen  aus  dem  ausseren  Leben"). 
It  seemed  to  a  cursory  glance  very  entertaining. 


BABO  (JOSEPH  MARIA).  —  Page  75. 

A  dramatic  writer  of  merit,  born  at  Ehrenbreitstein  in 
1756.  Professor  of  -Esthetics,  and  director  of  the  Theatre 
at  Munich.    Died  in  15*2:2. 


BETTINA    FRAL"  VON  ARNIM  . —  Pages  142,  162. 

Frau  von  Arnim  is  sister  of  Clemens  Brentano.  and  wife 
of  Achim  von  Arnim,  two  distinguished  poets  and  romance 
writers.  Frau  von  Arnim  translated  her  correspondence 
with  Goethe  into  English  herself,  and  it  might  therefore 
seem  unnecessary  for  me  to  give  any  extracts  from  it ;  but 
as  I  do  not  think  the  book  is  extensively  known,  nor  very 
well  suited  to  the  English  palate,  nor,  lastly,  that  Frau 
von  Arnim  can  handle  our  language  with  sufficient  skill 
to  do  justice  to  her  mastery  over  her  own.  I  have  ven- 
tured on  a  few  passages.  The  scene  with  the  squirrel 
and  prince  John  of  Mechlenburg,  —  the  poor  little  prin- 
cesses, disenchanted  by  the  "Frau  Rath's  "  powerful  wand 
from  the  bonds  of  court  ettiquette  and  the  tyranny  of  the 
cruel  Hormeisterin,  and  restored  to  the  charming  liberty 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


265 


of  pumping  to  their  heart's  content,  —  the  "  Frau  Rath's  " 
cap-stand,  —  the  ham  salad  eaten  by  the  little  royalties 
with  the  naivete  and  heartiness  of  a  German  appetite,  — 
all  this  forms  a  picture  intensely  national ;  ludicrous  to 
people  who  believe  themselves  and  their  manners  the 
standard  of  human  excellence,  and  in  whom  the  rein 
menschlich  (the  purely  human  element)  is  fairly  crushed 
under  rules  as  factitious  and  narrow  us  those  of  the  Celes- 
tial Empire ;  but  to  those  who  delight  in  glimpses  of  gen- 
uine human  nature,  as  agreeable  as  it  is  new.  The  prin- 
cesses were,  I  conclude,  Louisa,  Queen  of  Prussia,  and 
the  present  Queen  of  Hanover !  Let  the  reader  turn  to 
the  letter  of  the  beautiful  and  unfortunate  Louisa  to  her 
father,  and  he  will  find  matter  for  moralizing. 

Of  the  general  character  of  Frau  von  Arnim's  book  it 
is  unnecessary  for  me  to  speak,  as  it  is  accessible  to  the 
English  public.  Frau  von  Arnim  has  more  recently  pub- 
lished the  correspondence  of  Fraulein  von  Gunderode,  the 
young  nun,  or  chanoinesse,  whose  tragical  death  is  men- 
tioned in  her  letters  to  Goethe. 


BRANDIS  (CHRISTIAN  ALBERT).  —  Page  219. 

Professor  Brandis  was  born  at  Copenhagen.  His  father, 
who  is  still  living  at  a  very  advanced  age,  is  physician  to 
the  king  of  Denmark.  Professor  Brandis  was  one  of 
Niebuhr's  secretaries  at  Rome,  and  was  valued  and  loved 
by  that  illustrious  man,  as  he  must  be  by  all  who  have  the 
happiness  of  knowing  him.  On  this  subject  I  shall  say  no 
more,  because  I  do  not  think  it  fair  either  to  one's  friends 


266 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


or  one's  readers  to  make  a  book  the  channel  for  effusions 
of  private  friendship. 

Professor  Brandis  has  for  many  years  held  the  chair  of 
philosophy  at  Bonn.  In  the  year  1836  he  was  invited  to 
Athens  to  superintend  the  institutions  for  public  education 
in  that  city,  and  also  to  read  with  the  young  king.  In 
1839  he  returned  to  his  chair  at  Bonn.  He  has  published 
a  short  but  interesting  pamphlet  on  the  present  state  of 
the  Christian  Church  in  Greece.  His  edition  of  Aristotle 
is  well  known  to  scholars. 

The  work  from  which  the  passage  in  the  text  is  taken 
is  not  yet  completed. 


FICHTE  (JOHANN  GOTTLIEB).  -  Pages  4,  34,  78,  144, 
188,  216. 

Born  in  Upper  Lusatia,  in  1762.  He  lived  some  years 
in  Prussia,  where  he  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  personal 
intercourse  with  Kant.  In  1792  he  published  his  "  Kritik 
aller  OfTenbarung,"  which  excited  the  attention  of  all  Ger- 
many, and  led  to  his  appointment  to  the  chair  of  Philoso- 
phy at  Jena,  which  he  quitted  in  consequence  of  differen- 
ces with  the  government,  arising  from  the  supposed  heter- 
odoxy of  his  opinions.  He  was  afterwards  professor  at 
Erlangen,  and  during  the  war,  at  Konigsberg.  To  ele- 
vate the  mind  above  sensual  enjoyments,  to  represent  a 
spiritual  life  as  the  only  true  life,  and  every  other  as  a 
mere  semblance,  and  thus  to  excite  his  hearers  to  the 
highest  purity,  virtue,  and  self-denial,  was  his  daily  en- 
deavour ;  his  eminent  success  in  which  on  youthful  minds 
was  not  the  effect  only  of  his  singular  vigor  of  thought 
and  language,  but  of  the  force  of  his  whole  character ;  for 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


267 


he  was  what  he  told  others  to  be.  The  crown  of  his  ex- 
traordinary genius  was  a  heart  true,  pure,  and  susceptible 
of  every  thing  great  and  good  ;  an  inviolable  integrity,  a 
fervent  love  of  truth,  and  heroic  courage  in  its  defence. 
His  Address  to  the  German  nation,  (Reden  an  die  Deutsche 
Nation,)  published  in  Berlin,  while  that  capital  was  in  the 
possession  of  the  French  (1808),  proved  the  intrepidity 
of  his  patriotism,  and  gave  presage  of  the  struggle  which 
was  afterwards  so  gloriousy  maintained.  In  1809  he  was 
appointed  Professor  in  the  newly-formed  University  of 
Berlin,  which  was  henceforward  the  scene  of  his  labors. 
His  lectures  were  partly  delivered  to  mixed  audiences. 

Fichte's  death  was  worthy  of  his  life.  His  wife,  partly 
of  her  own  will,  partly  at  his  suggestion,  devoted  her- 
self to  the  service  of  the  military  hospitals  at  Berlin ;  she 
was  attacked  by  the  hospital  fever,  of  which  she  re- 
covered ;  but  her  husband  caught  it  of  her,  and  died  in 
the  51st  year  of  his  age. 

The  few  fragments  I  have  given  from  the  only  works 
of  Fichte  which  I  have  read,  are,  I  think,  in  harmony 
with  the  description  of  him.  His  eloquence  is  grave  and 
lofty,  and  at  the  same  time  ardent;  his  exhortations  to 
high  thoughts  and  a  holy  life  are  like  those  of  a  prophet. 

His  philosophy  succeeded  in  public  estimation  to  that  of 
Kant  and  was  succeeded  by  that  of  Schelling  and  Hegel. 


FOUQUE  (BARONESS  DE  LA  MOTTE). —  Page  34. 

Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouque's  romances  are  pretty  exten- 
sively known  in  this  country,  especially  the  wild,  grace- 
ful, and  touching  Undine.    Madame  de  la  Motte  Fouque 


268 


BIOGRAPHIGAL  SKETCHES 


also  wrote  romances  of  considerable  merit,  I  believe,  but 
they  never  fell  in  my  way.  My  extract  is  from  a  little 
book  called  the  "  Woman  of  the  Fashionable  World,"  or 
"of High  Society." 

I  think  it  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
write  in  a  better  tone.  The  thoughts  are  elevated  and 
refined,  the  language  free  from  exaggeration  or  affectation, 
yet  ardent  and  spirited.  Though  soaring  out  of  the  flat 
and  barren  regions  of  commonplace  and  narrow  conven- 
tion, there  is  nothing  that  is  not  strictly  practical ;  nothing 
extravagant  or  startling,  or  inconsistent  with  unaffected 
delicacy  and  dignified  repose  of  manner. 

The  only  wonder  is  that  anybody  could  write  this 
passage  who  had  not  seen  England.  It  seems,  however, 
that  "  Vornehmheit  "  manifests  itself  by  the  same  symp- 
toms in  all  countries.  So  much  the  better.  Madame  de 
la  Motte  Fouque's  graceful  earnest  eloquence  may  be  of 
wider  application  than  she  intended. 

The  influence  of  women  on  society,  however,  will  never 
be  worth  much  as  long  as  the  reign  of  the  sneerers,  whose 
express  business  (mission,  to  use  a  fashionable  word)  it  is 
to  crush  aspirations  and  to  keep  society  at  a  dead-level, 
lasts.  Women  of  the  leisure  classes,  unfortunately  for 
them,  come  within  the  department  of  aesthetics  rather 
than  of  ethics.  They  are  objects  of  taste.  This  evil  is 
inseparable  from  their  nature  and  destiny.  But  it  might 
be  extremely  mitigated  if  the  taste  by  which  they  are  tried 
were  elevated,  refined,  and  subjected  to  reason.  At  pres- 
ent it  operates  as  a  check  on  all  the  higher  qualities  of 
the  mind.  The  poor  bird  must  not  spread  its  wings,  for 
fear  the  free  winds  and  the  fertilizing  rains  of  heaven 
should  ruffle  its  pretty  plumage.    Whenever  women  are 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


269 


permitted  to  think  justly  and  to  feel  truly;  whenever  they 
are  taught  to  consider  that,  whatever  their  station  or  their 
gifts,  they  are  bound  to  pay  in,  each  her  own  particular 
contribution  to  the  great  fund  of  human  improvement  and 
human  happiness;  whenever  they  cease  to  regard  "the 
Great  Whole  as  a  nursery  or  a  ball-room,"  then,  and  not 
till  then,  they  will  become  the  nurses  of  great  thoughts 
and  noble  actions  in  men,  —  they  will  really  refine  and  ele- 
vate, and  harmonize  society. 

Then,  too,  the  world  will  hear  no  more  of  the  "  emanci- 
pation of  women,"  or  of  preposterous  schemes  for  bringing 
them  into  a  sort  of  competition  with  men,  — God  knows  at 
what  disadvantage!  The  completeness  of  the  human  be- 
ing rests  upon  that  "most  unlike  resemblance"  which 
Jeremy  Taylor  speaks  of.  Hitherto  men  have  delighted 
to  cultivate  the  "unlike"  qualities,  to  the  almost  entire 
exclusion  of  the  resembling.  Now,  by  one  of  those  re- 
actions which  are  in  the  common  course  of  human  affairs, 
there  are  indications  of  a  desire  to  obliterate  the  unlike- 
ness,  and  to  try  to  force  an  unnatural  resemblance. 

Whenever  the  equipoise  is  found,  the  great  problem  of 
social  life  will,  I  think,  be  solved.  But  that  can  only  be 
effected  by  the  consent  of  reason  ;  and  not  by  the  conflict 
of  love  of  power  with  vanity,  of  a  determination  to  main- 
tain established  rights  with  a  passionate  sense  of  supposed 
wrongs ;  and,  in  short,  by  the  conflict  of  those  who  have, 
with  those  who  want  to  have,  power,  which  is  now  stirring 
society  in  all  its  deepest  depths. 


270 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


FREDERIC  THE  GREAT.  —  Page  98. 

This  very  remarkable  document  is,  I  believe,  little 
known  ;  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  letters  that 
ever  was  written,  and  interesting  enough  in  that  point  of 
view,  independently  of  the  importance  of  the  subject.  Dr. 
Gravell  calls  it  "  one  of  the  most  curious  and  important 
documents  to  be  found  in  history." 

In  England  little  is  known  of  that  part  of  Frederic's 
character  and  reign  which  he  himself  regarded  as  estab- 
lishing by  far  his  highest  and  strongest  claim  to  the  ad- 
miration and  reverence  of  mankind.  "Frederic's  chief 
greatness,"  says  Johannes  von  Miiller,  in  his  Universal 
History,  "  lies  in  qualities  scarcely  known  to  the  foreigner ; 
one  thing  distinguishes  him  from  the  herd  of  heroes,  —  he 
gains  by  the  nearest  approach,  the  nicest  scrutiny.  His 
power,"  adds  he,  "was  like  his  glance,  —  quick,  firm, 
resolute  ;  his  government  the  despotism  of  a  father,  severe 
and  formidable  to  idle  children  alone." 

Frederic  carried  on  a  struggle  with  the  hydra  of  legal 
corruption,  which  would  have  worn  out  any  man  less  in- 
tensely and  resolutely  bent  on  ameliorating  the  condition 
of  those  whose  servant,  no  less  than  sovereign,  he  was. 
He  was  descended  of  a  family  in  which  a  strong  percep- 
tion of  the  duty  of  sovereigns  as  legislators  seems  to  have 
been  almost  hereditary.  "  There  is  no  sovereign  family  in 
the  world,"  says  Dr.  Gravell,  "the  members  of  which 
have  so  fully  and  earnestly  recognised  the  duty  of  rulers  to 
provide  for  their  subjects  a  prompt,  impartial,  and  effective 
administration  of  justice,  or  have  so  zealously  labored  to 
fulfil  that  duty,  as  the  house  of  Hohenzollern." 

t 


OF  THE  AUTHORS.  271 

The  Elector  John  Cicero,  in  his  will,  admonished  his 
son  and  successor  as  follows  :  — 

"  Take  the  poor  under  your  especial  protection  :  you 
cannot  better  strengthen  your  throne  than  by  succouring  the 
oppressed,  by  never  conniving  at  any  attempt  of  the  rich  to 
overbear  the  lowly,  and  by  seeing  that  right  and  justice 
are  done  to  every  man." 

King  Frederic  William  the  First,  in  his  edict  for  accel- 
erating the  progress  of  law  reform,  published  in  the  year 
1713,  makes  use  of  these  remarkable  words  : 

"  A  bad  administration  of  justice  cries  to  Heaven,  and  if 
I  do  not  remedy  it,  I  make  myself  answerable  for  it." 

The  work  of  law  reform  went  on,  though  slowly,  under 
Frederic's  predecessors ;  but  it  was  reserved  for  his  pene- 
trating acuteness,  unwearied  energy,  and  immovable  firm- 
ness to  complete  it.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the 
part  of  Lord  Dover's  life  of  this  illustrious  man,  relative  to 
his  law  reforms,  is  inaccurate  and  defective.  No  mention 
whatever  is  made  of  Suarez,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
men  that  ever  lived.  The  Code  compiled  under  the  super- 
vision of  Von  Carmer,  which  Lord  Dover  calls  the  Code 
Frtderique,  was  and  is  called  the  Allgemeines  Landrecht, 
or  General  Law  of  the  Land.  The  project  framed  by 
Cocceji  was  indeed  called  the  Corpus  Juris  Fredericianum, 
but  this  never  had  the  force  of  law.  In  1780,  when  Von 
Carmer  proposed  to  retain  that  title,  Frederic  wrote  in  the 
margin  these  remarkable  and  characteristic  words,  "The 
title  is  indifferent,  so  the  thing  itself  be  but  useful." 

The  Code  was  not  promulgated  with  the  force  of  law 
till  1794. 

Frederic  is  accused  by  his  biographer  of  dismissing  his 
chancellors  capriciously.    The  truth  is,  he  was  greatly 


272 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


irritated  at  the  various  pretexts  invented  by  the  successors 
of  the  illustrious  Cocceji  for  defeating  or  delaying  meas- 
ures of  general  utility.  "He  was,"  says  Dr.  Gravell, 
"  resolved  rather  to  be  harsh  to  a  few  individuals,  than  to 
risk  the  welfare  of  his  people."  Surely  such  motives  are 
not  to  be  confounded  with  the  personal  caprices  and  resent- 
ments of  princes. 

An  edict  published  by  Von  Carmer,  then  minister  of 
justice  in  Silesia,  showed  that,  in  some  details  of  procedure, 
he  had  actually  effected  the  simplification  and  abbrevia- 
tion which  the  king  had  so  long  been  striving  at.  Fred- 
eric, whose  vigilance  nothing  escaped,  commanded  him  to 
undertake  a  project  for  a  complete  reform  of  the  laws. 
The  following  year,  1775,  Frederic  held  a  personal  con- 
ference with  Von  Carmer,  Von  Fiirst,  then  chancellor, 
and  Von  Rebner,  President  of  the  Council  of  Justice,  at 
which  both  the  latter  strenuously  opposed  the  king's  pro- 
ject. It  was  however  followed  by  an  edict  commanding 
that  oral  pleadings  should  be  received.  Still  Frederic  was 
far  from  attaining  his  end.  On  the  contrary,  his  dissatis- 
faction continued  to  increase,  and  in  the  year  1779  he 
dismissed  Von  Fiirst  and  appointed  Von  Carmer  his  chan- 
cellor. This  distinguished  man  immediately  set  about 
amending  the  system  of  procedure.  The  satisfaction  with 
which  Frederic  viewed  his  labors  soon  manifested  itself 
in  the  Cabinets-Ordre,  which  I  have  improperly  called  a 
letter,  authorizing  him  to  undertake  a  complete  reform  of 
the  laws. 

I  have  thought  it  necessary  to  give  an  outline  of  the 
facts,  abstracted  from  Dr.  Gravell's  work,  to  throw  light 
on  this  singular  document,  than  which  few  perhaps  can  be 
found  more  striking,  from  the  union  of  acute  perspicacity, 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


273 


large,  unprejudiced  views,  benevolent  intentions,  and  un- 
conquerable will  which  it  displays. 

The  world  may  well  look  with  interest  to  the  result  of 
the  labors  of  the  Commission  appointed  by  the  present 
king  of  Prussia  for  arranging  and  publishing  the  works 
and  papers  of  his  illustrious  predecessor.  The  names  of 
A.  v.  Humboldt,  Ranke,  Raumer,  and  Boeckh  are  suffi- 
cient guarantees  that  the  enlightened  views  of  the  king 
will  be  punctually  carried  out. 


GENTZ  (FRIEDRICH).  —  Page  149. 

Gentz  (Friedrich  v.)  was  born  at  Breslau,  in  1764.  He 
studied  at  Konigsberg,  obtained  a  post  under  the  govern- 
ment at  Berlin,  and  soon  distinguished  himself  as  a  jour- 
nalist. In  1793,  he  published  a  translation  of  Burke's 
remarks  on  the  French  revolution,  and  of  some  works  of 
Mallet  du  Pin  and  Monier.  His  essay  "  On  the  Adminis- 
tration of  the  Finances  of  Great  Britain  "  (1801),  attracted 
the  attention  of  Mr.  Pitt.  His  essay  "  On  the  state  of 
Europe  before  and  after  the  French  Revolution,"  was  also 
translated  into  English  ;  and  he  accompanied  Mr.  Elliot, 
then  minister  at  the  court  of  Dresden,  to  England.  He 
returned  to  Dresden,  and  published  other  political  works, 
among  which  was  one  on  the  relations  between  England 
and  Spain.  He  was  a  constant  opponent  of  peace  with 
France.  At  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  and  at  the  Confer- 
ences at  Paris  in  1815,  he  drew  up  the  protocols,  as  also 
at  the  succeeding  Conferences,  the  last  of  which  was  held 
at  Verona.  In  1818,  articles  from  his  pen  appeared  in  the 
"Wiener  Jahrbiicher  der  Literatur,"  on  the  freedom  of 


274 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


the  press  in  England,  and  on  the  author  of  Junius's 
letters. 

My  extract  is  from  some  letters  of  Gentz  to  Johannes  v. 
Muller.  Some  of  them  are  striking,  from  the  vivacity  and 
passion  with  which  they  are  written.  His  despair  at  see- 
ing Austria  fall  under  the  reiterated  blows  of  France,  is 
expressed  with  a  vehemence  that  carries  the  reader  along 
with  him.  From  his  account  of  the  matter,  it  seems  that 
the  government  and  army  of  that  country  were  thoroughly 
rotten,  and  their  fall  inevitable.  He  says  he  warned  Mr. 
Pitt  of  what  would  happen  if  Austria  took  the  field  with- 
out Prussia,  but  that  the  English  government  was  intense- 
ly ignorant  of  continental  affairs. 

Gentz  had  talents  and  eloquence  ;  but  there  is  nothing 
in  his  moral  character  to  inspire  the  smallest  respect,  nor, 
I  believe,  is  he  held  in  any,  in  Germany. 

I  believe  he  enjoyed  a  pension  from  this  country,  granted 
him  by  Mr.  Pitt,  up  to  the  time  of  his  death. 


GOETHE  (WOLFGANG  von).  —  Pages  3,10,15,  18,  20, 
30,  40,  47,  57,  60,  64,  75,  80,  81,  92,  94,  98,  109,  122,  124, 
139,  149,  155,  164,  172,  183,  187,  192,  202,  206,  218,  245. 

These  extracts  will  give  some  idea  of  Goethe's  endless 
variety,  though  a  very  imperfect  one.  There  still  remain 
untouched  the  whole  of  his  productions  as  a  poet,  and  as 
a  man  of  science  (using  these  two  words  in  the  improperly 
restricted  sense  in  which  we  use  them).  What  I  especial- 
ly wished  to  show,  was  his  good  sense  and  practical  wis- 
dom ;  the  acuteness  and  clearness  of  his  judgment  when  he 
chose  to  exert  it.    There  are  a  sort  of  people  in  this  coun- 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


275 


try  who  continue  to  speak,  and  even  write,  about  Goethe 
and  Kotzebue,  which  to  a  German  ear  sounds  very  much 
as  Shakspeare  and  Colman  would  to  ours.  Others  talk 
of  Werther,  that  fruitful  subject  of  ridicule,  as  if  Goethe 
had  written  nothing  else.  Others,  again,  think  of  him 
only  as  the  author  of  Faust, —  that  untranslatable  poem 
which  every  Englishman  translates.  But  in  order  to  form 
any  idea  of  Goethe's  merits,  it  is  necessary  to  read  his 
criticisms  on  literature  and  art,  and  his  remarks  on  men 
and  events.  How  perfectly,  for  example,  does  he  charac- 
terize Goldsmith  in  a  few  words,  and  how  striking  the 
transition  to  the  equally  true  and  vivid  description  of  mod- 
ern French  literature !  But  it  is  no  part  of  my  plan  to 
pronounce  an  eulogium  on  the  pieces  I  have  chosen, — 
they  must  speak  for  themselves.  I  only  meant  to  say  that 
my  choice  had  often  been  determined,  not  by  the  merit  of 
a  passage  alone,  but  by  its  presenting  the  author  in  some 
less  familiar  light.  This  is  no  place  for  entering  into  the 
question  of  Goethe's  merits  generally.  Some  of  his  works 
are  open  to  serious  objections,  and  though  they  do  not 
want  able  and  conscientious  defenders,  it  is  a  discussion  in 
which  I  have  no  desire  to  engage.  My  own  impression  is, 
that  there  are  none  from  which  a  mature  and  disciplined 
mind  may  not  draw  lessons  of  wisdom  of  a  very  high  order; 
but  I  am  aware  that  the  question  is  not  answered  so, — 
nor  do  I  mean  it  as  an  answer. 

The  letters  from  Sicily  give  some  faint  idea  of  his  power 
of  painting  by  words.  To  those  who  have  seen  that  en- 
chanting island,  the  picture  will,  I  think,  appear  at  once 
true  and  ideal  as  the  finest  of  Claude's. 

I  must  likewise  beg  my  readers  to  look  at  the  passage 


276 


BIOGRAFHICAL  SKETCHES 


quoted  at  page  124,  though  no  words  that  I  could  find  can 
do  justice  to  its  melancholy  beauty. 

I  have  ventured  on  two  scenes  from  his  noble  tragedy 
of  Egmont :  the  one  for  its  sagacity  and  calm  wisdom,  the 
other  for  its  grace,  pathos,  and  passion.  The  reader  will 
not  fail  to  perceive  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  borrowed  the 
idea  of  a  passage  in  "  Kenil worth  "  from  the  scene  be- 
tween Egmont  and  Clarchen.  But  the  resemblance  is 
only  external.  The  incident  is  copied,  but  the  characters 
are  totally  different.  Amy  Robsart  has  no  resemblance  to 
Clara,  who,  though  of  the  humblest  birth  and  the  sweetest 
and  tenderest  nature,  is  a  creature  of  proud,  heroic  spirit, 
and  loves  in  Egmont  not  only  her  lover,  but  the  champion 
of  the  freedom  of  her  country.  The  closing  scene  of  Eg- 
mont is  one  of  the  grandest  efforts  of  Goethe's  genius. 
I  had  thought  of  attempting  a  translation  of  the  whole 
play,  and  indeed  have  partly  completed  it,  but  better 
judges  than  I  tell  me  it  will  not  succeed.  Yet  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  faithful  translations  of  Egmont,  Gotz  of 
Berlichingen,  and  Clavigo,  would  be  worth  the  notice  of 
the  English  public. 

I  shall  have  to  speak  of  the  difficulties  of  translating 
Jean  Paul.  They  are  great,  and  I  think  obvious  ;  for 
they  arise  from  the  uncouthness,  irregularity,  and  oddness 
of  his  style  (sometimes,  I  ought  to  add,  from  its  powerful 
eloquence)  —  the  chaotic  profusion  and  confusion  of  ima- 
ges and  the  deep-dyed  local  color,  —  to  borrow  a  French 
phrase.  But  in  Goethe's  style  it  is  not  quaintness  or  sin- 
gularity that  reduces  his  translator  to  despair ;  it  is  its  per- 
fection ;  one  sees  that  every  change  of  form  must  be  for 
the  worse.  He  was,  I  think,  the  most  consummate  mas- 
ter of  form  the  world  has  seen  since  the  days  of  Virgil 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


277 


and  Catullus  ;  and  how  difficult  is  it  to  reproduce  form ! 
The  perfectly  apposite  words,  which  hang  together  like  a 
string  of  pearls ;  the  ease,  the  euphony  ;  the  adaptation 
of  the  style  to  each  of  the  innumerable  subjects  he  wrote 
on,  —  these  are  merits  which  elude  the  hand  of  the  most 
scrupulous  or  the  most  successful  translator. 
Clara's  song  is  as  follows  : 

"  Freud  vol], 
Und  leidvoll, 
Gedankenvoll  seyn  ; 
Langen, 
Und  bangen, 
In  schwebender  Pein, 
Himmelhoch  jauchzend, 
Zum  Tode  betrubt,  — 
Gliicklich  allein 
1st  die  Seele  die  liebt." 

To  analyze  the  merits  of  this  beautiful  song  would  re- 
quire an  essay  ;  and,  after  all,  who  can  define  that  name- 
less grace,  that  exquisite  fitness  of  expression,  which 
makes  it  what  it  is, — Clarchen's  song, — just  as  the  still 
more  beautiful  "  Meine  Ruh '  ist  run,''  in  Faust,  is  Gret- 
chen's  ?  Both  are  the  utterance  of  simple,  earnest  passion 
in  the  homely  language  of  low-born  girls.  Yet  how 
different ! 


GRIMM  (JACOB).  — Pages  94,  108. 

Born  at  Hanau  in  1785.    The  brothers  Grimm  are 
known  to  this  country  chiefly  by  the  lightest  of  their 
works,  their  charming  collection  of  stories  {Kinder-  und 
19 


278 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


Haus-Marchen),  and  by  the  proceedings  of  the  king  of 
Hanover  which  led  to  their  expulsion  from  the  University 
of  Gottingen,  together  with  five  other  of  its  most  illustri- 
ous professors.  The  two  Grimms  have  recently  been  in- 
vited to  Berlin  by  the  present  king,  who  has  munificently 
provided  them  with  the  means  of  pursuing  their  labors. 
Jacob  Grimm's  "  German  Grammar,"  "German  Legends 
and  Stories,"  "German  Mythology,"  "German  Legal 
Antiquities,"  a  number  of  dissertations  on  various  points 
of  early  German  literature,  and,  lastly,  the  "  German 
Dictionary,"  which  is  to  crown  this  vast  structure,  will 
form  such  a  complete  body  of  philological,  archaeological, 
and  antiquarian  science  as  never  before  proceeded  from 
the  same  hand.  His  literary  reputation  rests,  in  Germany, 
chiefly  on  his  admirable  "  Deutsche  Grammatik,"  which 
throws  the  whole  light  of  historical  and  philological  re- 
search on  the  original  structure  and  gradual  developement 
of  the  German  language,  and,  collaterally,  of  all  the  Teu- 
tonic tongues.  He  published,  in  conjunction  with  his 
brother  Wilhelm  Karl,  the  "Deutsche  Sagen,"  and  the 
abovementioned  "Kinder-  und  Haus-Marchen,"  which 
have  been  so  admirably  translated  by  the  late  Mr.  Edgar 
Taylor. 

The  "Deutsche  Mythologie,"  from  which  my  extracts 
are  taken,  is  a  work  of  vast  and  profound  learning,  and 
these  little  legends  occur  only  as  illustrations.  I  was 
greatly  tempted  to  take  others  ;  but  I  regretted  still  more 
not  to  have  room  for  the  whole  introduction.  The  grad- 
ual recession  of  the  primitive  religion  before  Christianity  ; 
the  degree  to  which  the  new  religion  was  colored  by  the 
old ;  the  tenacity  with  which  old  superstitions  clung  to 
the  hearts  and  imaginations  of  the  people  ;  the  vestiges  of 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


279 


them  that  still  remain  ;  analogies  with  other  countries 
where  a  similar  process  went  on  ;  —  all  this  is  traced  in 
the  most  interesting-  manner.  The  book  itself  presents  a 
mass  of  erudition  such  as  no  country  but  Germany  can 
produce  or  tolerate. 


HAHN-HAHN  (GRAFIN  IDA  von).  —  Page  213. 

Countess  Hahn-Hahn  is  one  of  the  most  popular  of 
living  German  authoresses.  She  has  written  some  novels, 
a  volume  of  poems,  which  are  highly  spoken  of,  and  the 
little  book  on  Italy,  called  "Across  the  Alps"  (Jenseits 
der  Berge),  from  which  this  extract  is  taken.  Her  de- 
scriptions of  the  cities  of  Italy  have  remarkable  individu- 
ality and  life.  The  aspect  and  character  of  each  is  dis- 
tinctly and  vividly  traced.  The  account  of  the  poverty  of 
Naples  is  one  of  the  most  striking  things  of  the  kind  I 
ever  read,  and  does  credit  to  the  author's  humanity,  as 
well  as  to  the  accuracy  of  her  observation. 

The  faults  of  the  book  seem  to  arise  from  an  excessive 
dread  of  commonplace  or  imitation.  By  way  of  avoiding 
this,  the  lively  writer  sometimes  runs  into  daring  singulari- 
ties, which  nothing  short  of  genius  and  acquirements  of 
the  very  highest  order  can  justify.  The  affectation  of 
differing  from  everybody  is  certainly  less  tiresome,  though 
less  safe,  than  the  affectation  of  echoing  thousand-times- 
reechoed  raptures  ;  but  while  we  admire  the  intrepidity 
with  which  Countess  Hahn-Hahn  judges  for  herself,  and 
even  avows  her  heresies  of  taste,  undismayed  by  great 
names,  we  may  be  permitted  to  wish  that  this  trampling 
on  received  opinions  were  done  with  a  less  peremptory 


280 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


air.  The  tone  of  the  work  is  rather  (to  use  a  German 
distinction)  "subjective"  than  "objective";  —  in  other 
words,  things  seem  to  be  described,  not  so  much  for  their 
own  sakes,  as  for  their  effect  in  eliciting  some  peculiarity 
in  the  character  or  circumstances  of  the  writer.  This  is 
so  much  the  fashion  of  the  times,  that  perhaps  it  hardly 
demands  a  comment. 


HEINE  (HEINRICH).  — Pages  60  and  152. 

Born  at  Diisseldorf  in  1799.  Author  of"  Reisebilder," 
and  several  other  works.  Some  of  his  songs  are  beauti- 
ful, especially  those  written  in  Heligoland,  the  imagery 
of  which  is  drawn  from  the  northern  seas  and  their  various 
aspects.  Their  lyrical  sweetness  is  not  surpassed  by  any 
thing  in  the  German  language,  except  by  some  of  Goethe's 
s'ongs.  Heine's  prose  style  is  also  regarded  in  Germany  as 
admirable,  even  by  those  who  the  least  admire  the  matter 
of  his  writings.  As  a  proof  of  his  artistical  merit,  I  might 
mention  the  pretty  sort  of  echo  of  the  beginning  with 
which  the  "  Hartz-miners  "  closes. 


HEINZELMANN.  —  Page  39. 


HERDER  (JOHANN  GOTTFRIED  von).  —  Page  90. 

Born  1744.  Was  the  son  of  a  poor  schoolmaster  and 
cantor  (parish-clerk)  in  the  little  town  of  Morungen,  in 
East  Prussia.  His  father  would  not  allow  him  to  read 
any  other  book  than  the  Bible  and  hymn-book ,  but,  urged 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


281 


by  an  insatiable  desire  of  knowledge,  he  contrived  to  read 
by  stealth.  At  length  a  clergyman,  named  Frescho,  took 
him  as  secretary,  and  struck  with  his  moral  and  intellect- 
ual qualities,  allowed  him  to  profit  by  the  instructions  in 
Greek  and  Latin  which  his  son  was  receiving.  Here 
Herder  became  acquainted  with  a  Russian  surgeon,  who 
offered  to  take  him  to  Konigsberg  and  teach  him  his  pro- 
fession, and,  as  he  had  no  hope  of  prosecuting  his  favorite 
studies,  he  accepted  the  proposal.  Having  fainted,  how- 
ever, at  the  first  dissection  he  was  present  at,  he  aban- 
doned surgery  and  determined  to  study  theology.  He 
became  known  to  some  distinguished  men  who  helped  him 
to  prosecute  his  studies,  and  enjoyed  the  acquaintance  of 
Kant  and  the  friendship  of  Hermann.  He  now  pursued 
the  study  of  theology  with  that  elevation  of  thought  and 
feeling  which  characterized  his  whole  life,  and  rendered 
tributary  to  it  his  vast  and  profound  acquirements  in 
philosophy,  science,  and  history,  his  knowledge  of  various 
nations  and  tongues.  In  1764  he  went  to  Riga  as  usher 
at  the  cathedral  school.  Both  in  the  pulpit  and  the  school 
he  inspired  enthusiastic  attachment.  His  eloquence  as  a 
preacher  was  characterized  by  evangelical  simplicity,  earn- 
estness, and  purity.  He  was  appointed  travelling  tutor  to 
the  Prince  of  Holstein  Oldenburg,  and  had  reached  Stras- 
burg,  when  a  disorder  of  the  eyes  prevented  him  from 
pursuing  his  journey.  This  accident  led  to  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Goethe,  over  whom  he  acquired  great  influence. 
He  had  already  gained  considerable  reputation  by  his 
"  Fragmente  uber  die  deutsche  Literatur,"  his  "  Kriti- 
schen  Walder,"  &c.  In  1775  he  was  invited  (through 
Goethe's  means)  to  Weimar,  as  chaplain  to  the  Court, 
general  superintendent,  and  councillor  of  the  Consistory. 


282 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


If  there  was  a  place  in  the  whole  world  favorable  to  the 
developement  of  all  the  treasures  of  Herder's  mind,  a  place 
where  his  useful  labors  would  be  not  only  unimpeded,  but 
encouraged  and  aided,  it  was  Weimar,  during  the  regency 
of  the  Grand-Duchess  Amelia,  and  the  reign  of  her  son 
Charles  Augustus.  The  fairest  fruits  of  his  genius  were 
matured  here  ;  and  his  memory  will  long  be  held  in  grate- 
ful veneration  as  a  most  persuasive  preacher,  as  the  pro- 
moter of  public  education,  the  fosterer  of  talent,  and  the 
founder  of  many  useful  institutions.  Beloved  and  honored 
both  by  the  people  and  their  enlightened  rulers,  he  con- 
tinued his  career  of  beneficent  activity  till  his  death,  in 
1803.  His  works  fill  forty-five  octavo  volumes,  and  em- 
brace theology,  philosophy,  history,  literature,  and  the  fine 
arts.  Among  them  we  may  mention  his  beautiful  Ro- 
mances of  the  Cid,  from  the  Spanish,  and  his  "Spirit  of 
Hebrew  Poetry."  But  his  great  work  is  the  "  Ideas 
towards  a  Philosophy  of  the  History  of  the  Human  Race," 
a  book  full  of  the  genuine,  fervent,  sincere  expression  of 
love  to  God  and  man.  His  views  of  the  nature  and  desti- 
nies of  man  are  benign,  indulgent,  consolatory.  Those 
who  read  only  to  be  informed  or  amused  will  be  disap- 
pointed in  the  book ;  but  those  who  wish  to  cultivate  all 
the  most  elevating  and  soothing  sentiments,  to  attain  to  a 
state  of  mind  serene,  hopeful,  and  benevolent ;  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  the  world  and  to  life,  will  return  to  it  for  repose 
and  for  comfort  when  disturbances,  perplexities,  and  sor- 
rows beset  them. 

It  has  been  translated  into  English,  I  believe  from  a 
French  translation,  —  at  any  rate  badly  enough,  as  I  am 
told.    But  as  it  may  be  known  to  the  English  reader,  even 


OF  THE  AUTHORS.  283 

through  this  imperfect  medium,  I  have  not  been  solicitous 
to  give  many  extracts  from  it. 


HUMBOLDT  (WILHELM  FREIHERR  von).— 
Pages  167,  183,  201. 

Of  the  two  bearers  of  this  illustrious  name,  Alexander, 
the  younger  and  surviving  brother,  is  so  much  the  best 
known  to  the  English  public,  that  I  the  less  regret  not 
having  adorned  my  pages  with  any  passages  from  his 
works.  I  had  fully  intended  to  insert  a  charming  essay  of 
his,  called  the  "Physiognomy  of  Plants,"  but  unfortu- 
nately it  is  too  long  for  my  little  volume,  and  I  could  not 
bear  to  mutilate  it.  I  know  nothing  like  it  in  our  language. 
It  combines  the  views  of  the  man  of  science  and  the  artist, 
in  a  new  and  very  agreeable  manner. 

I  am  not  aware  that  any  of  Baron  Wilhelm  von  Hum- 
boldt's works  have  been  translated  into  English  ;  yet  he 
is  one  of  the  men  of  whom  Germany  has  most  reason  to  be 
proud.  The  noble  simplicity  of  his  character,  his  consci- 
entious and  ardent  zeal  for  truth  and  knowledge,  the  fidel- 
ity and  tenderness  of  his  friendship,  are  apparent  in  the 
few  little  fragments  I  have  given.  His  learning  was  as 
profound  as  it  was  extensive.  His  career  as  a  statesman 
was  honorable  to  himself,  and  useful  to  his  country.  In 
short,  his  reputation,  either  as  a  scholar  or  a  statesman, 
would  have  sufficed  to  constitute  him  a  great  man. 

He  was  born  at  Berlin,  in  1767,  and  received  a  careful 
and  profound  education.  In  1799,  he  published  a  criticism 
on  Goethe's  poem  of  Hermann  and  Dorothea,  {JEsthetische 
Versuche,)  than  which  I  believe  it  would  be  hardly  possi- 


284 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


ble  to  point  out  a  more  finished  piece  of  criticism.  It 
contains  not  only  a  refined  analysis  of  the  poem,  but  is  full 
of  profound  and  acute  remarks  on  poetry  in  general.  He 
was  likewise  author  of  "Inquiries  into  the  Basque  Lan- 
guage," which  threw  light  on  that  obscure  subject,  and  a 
translation  of  the  "Agamemnon"  of  ^Eschylus,  which 
contain  the  results  of  the  most  abstruse  researches  into  the 
Greek  language  and  metres.  Wilhelm  v.  Humboldt  lived 
for  many  years  in  Jena,  where  he  contracted  that  friend- 
ship with  Schiller  which  is  so  nobly  and  touchingly  ex- 
pressed by  these  great  men  in  the  letters  I  have  quoted. 

Chancellor  v.  Miiller,  in  his  little  essay  called  "  Goethe 
considered  as  a  Man  of  Action,"  says,  "Wilhelm  and 
Alexander  von  Humboldt  were  long  domesticated  at  Jena. 
Affectionate  regard,  unconquerable  zeal  in  investigating 
and  establishing  facts  and  principles,  and  in  advancing  the 
noblest  interests  of  civilization,  bound  them  firmly  and 
closely  to  Goethe  and  Schiller,  who,  on  the  other  hand, 
found  refreshment  and  reward  in  a  free  interchange  of 
ideas  with  the  noble  brothers. 

"  It  is  well  known  how  much  the  world  is  indebted  to 
that  harmonious  cooperation,  in  which  every  thing  that 
was  attained  called  forth  fresh  and  more  ardent  desire  for 
further  attainment,  and  every  triumph  of  the  one  was  most 
deeply  and  intensely  enjoyed  by  the  other." 

He  began  his  diplomatic  career  as  Prussian  resident  in 
Rome,  where  he  was  afterwards  ambassador  extraordi- 
nary. In  1810  he  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  Vienna,  at 
that  momentous  period  when  Europe  was  like  an  ava- 
lanche, which  needed  only  some  slight  shock  to  make  it 
fall  with  annihilating  force  on  the  power  which  oppressed 
it.    Humboldt's  services  were  so  highly  estimated  by  his 


OF  THE  AUTHORS.  285 

sovereign,  that  he  sent  him  as  his  plenipotentiary  to  the 
Congress  at  Prague.  He  was  also  one  of  those  who  signed 
the  treaty  of  peace  at  Paris,  in  1814,  and  that  between 
Prussia  and  Saxony,  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  in  1815. 
In  1816  he  was  minister  at  Paris,  and  in  1818  at  London, 
whence  he  was  recalled  to  occupy  a  distinguished  post  in 
the  Prussian  ministry.  He  died  in  the  year  1834,  and  has 
left  a  reputation  for  learning,  wisdom,  and  virtue,  such  as 
has  seldom  been  equalled  in  any  age  or  country. 


ISELIN  (ISAAK).  —  Page  34. 


JACOBS  (FRIEDRICH  CHRISTIAN  WILHELM).— 
Page  44. 

Born  at  Gotha,  1764.  Studied  theology  at  Jena  and 
afterwards  at  Gottingen.  In  1785  he  was  chosen  teacher 
of  the  gymnasium  in  his  native  city,  and  soon  began  to 
distinguish  himself  in  the  literary  world.  In  conjunction 
with  some  friends  he  published  "  Characters  of  the  Poets 
of  all  Nations,"  and  subsequently  "  Exercitationes  critics 
in  Scriptores  veteres,"  the  "  Greek  Anthology,"  and  other 
works,  chiefly  on  Greek  literature.  He  received  from 
Duke  Ernest  the  Second  that  support  and  encouragement 
which  the  princes  of  Germany  are  so  remarkable  for  afford- 
ing to  letters.  While  there,  he  published,  among  other 
works,  "  Elementarbuch  der  griechischen  Sprache."  In 
1807,  he  was  invited  by  the  king  of  Bavaria  to  become 
professor  of  Ancient  Literature  in  the  Lyceum  at  Munich, 


286 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


and  member  of  the  newly  established  Academy  of  Sciences, 
where  he  delivered  the  eloquent  discourse  from  which  the 
passage  in  the  text  is  extracted.  In  three  years  he  re- 
turned to  Gotha  as  chief  librarian  and  director  of  the  nu- 
mismatic cabinet.  Here  he  published  the  "  Anthologia 
Grasca  ad  fidem  Codicis  Vaticani  edita."  The  chances  of 
war,  and  the  altered  situation  of  the  Pope,  which  had 
brought  back  to  Heidelberg  the  invaluable  manuscripts 
given  by  the  Emperor  Maximilian  to  Gregory  the  Fif- 
teenth,* greatly  aided  his  labors. 

Jacobs  was  a  favorite  disciple  of  Heyne,  and  belongs  to 
his  school  of  philology,  the  main  difference  between  which 
and  the  later  critico-historical  school  is  adverted  to  in  the 
notice  of  Otfried  Miiller. 

Jacobs's  philological  works  would  appear  full  occupa- 
tion for  a  life  ;  but  he  has  also  produced  numerous  works 
of  fiction,  which  are  in  the  hands  of  all  persons  of  educa- 
tion, and  are  unexceptionable  in  their  moral  tendency. 

He  has  recently  published  some  account  of  his  life, 
called  "  Personalien,  gesammelt  von  F.  Jacobs:"  Leip- 
sig,  1840. 


JACOBI  (FRIED.  HEINRICH) .  —  Pages  51  and  85. 

Friedrich  Heinrich  Jacobi,  born  at  Diisseldorf  in  1743. 
He  went  to  school  at  Frankfurt,  where  his  deep  feeling  of 
religion  manifested  itself  even  at  that  early  age,  and  often 
rendered  him  an  object  of  ridicule  to  his  companions. 
From  Frankfurt  he  went  to  Geneva,  where  he  remained 
three  years.    During  this  time  his  mind  had  made  such 

*  See  Ranke's  "  History  of  the  Popes/7  ii.  482,  and  Appendix. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


287 


progress,  that  he  returned  home  with  heavy  heart,  to  en- 
ter on  the  management  of  his  father's  business.  He  car- 
ried it  on  for  several  years,  without,  however,  neglecting 
literature.  He  became  acquainted  with  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  persons  of  his  time.  His  brother  Johann 
Georg,  the  poet,  introduced  him  to  Wieland  ;  but  Goethe 
produced  a  still  stronger  effect  upon  his  mind.  He  mar- 
ried a  wife  richly  endowed  in  body  and  mind,  and  inherit- 
ing a  fortune  which  rendered  him  independent.  In  1799, 
he  was  invited  to  Munich,  and  appointed  privy  councillor, 
but  soon  fell  into  disfavor,  on  account  of  the  frankness 
with  which  he  commented  on  the  Bavarian  customhouse 
system.  He  retired  from  public  life  and  lived  in  the 
bosom  of  his  amiable  family,  at  his  beautiful  residence  at 
Pempelsfort,  happy  in  his  intercourse  with  the  greatest 
spirits  of  the  age.  A  severe  illness,  and  the  death  of  his 
beloved  wife,  interrupted  this  felicity.  He  devoted  himself 
with  the  more  ardor  to  science ;  a  journey  to  Weimar, 
where  he  saw  Goethe,  and  formed  a  friendship  with  Her- 
der, tended  to  recruit  his  spirits.  His  earlier  works, 
"Allwill"  and  "  Woldemar,"  were  a  sort  of  philosoph- 
ical novels.  In  1785,  he  published  his  "Letters  on  Spi- 
noza/' {Brief e  iiber  Spinoza,)  and  from  that  time  devoted 
himself  chiefly  to  metaphysical  and  religious  speculations. 
Among  these  may  be  mentioned  "  David  Hume  on  Belief, 
or  Idealism  and  Realism,"  and  his  "Letter  to  Fichte." 
The  French  Revolution  drove  him  from  Diisseldorf  to 
Holstein.  In  1804,  he  was  invited  to  the  newly-formed 
Academy  of  Sciences  at  Munich,  of  which  he  was  after- 
wards appointed  president.  On  attaining  his  seventieth 
year  he  relinquished  this  post,  the  salary  of  which  was 


288 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


continued  to  him  till  his  death,  which  took  place  in 
1819. 

As  a  writer  of  fiction  he  is  distinguished  for  vigorous 
painting-,  admirable  delineation  of  nature  and  the  human 
heart,  warmth  and  depth  of  feeling,  and  a  lively,  bold,  yet 
correct  turn  of  expression.  As  a  philosopher,  he  is  ad- 
mired for  his  rare  depth  of  thought,  for  the  fervor  of  his 
religious  feelings,  and  the  originality  and  beauty  of  his 
style.  At  the  same  time,  there  are  few  authors  concern- 
ing whom  opinions  vary  more,  than  concerning  Jacobi.  It 
seems  as  if  his  works  of  imagination  injured  him  with  the 
philosophers,  and  his  philosophy  with  the  poets. 

Jacobi's  polemical  merits  were  great.  He  pointed  out 
the  chasms,  the  unconnectedness,  and  the  mischievous  re- 
sults of  the  prevalent  opinions,  with  critical  acuteness,  and 
with  all  the  eloquence  of  a  just  aversion.  With  his  pecu- 
liar modes  of  thinking,  it  was  natural  that  he  should  not 
become  the  disciple  of  any  other  philosopher,  and  that  he 
should  come  into  conflict,  alternately,  with  the  dogmatic 
Mendelssohn,  the  critical  Kant,  the  idealistical  Fichte,  and 
the  pantheistical  Schelling ;  against  the  latter  of  whom, 
indeed,  he  expressed  himself  with  too  much  bitterness. 
Jacobi's  place  among  the  pure  searchers  after  truth  must, 
however,  remain  for  ever  uncontested,  and  his  character 
is  rich  in  all  that  can  attract  the  wise  and  the  good.  He- 
gel has  given  a  character  of  him  in  the  Heidelberger  Jahr- 
biicher,  1817. 

Jacobi's  correspondence,  published  about  ten  years  ago, 
is  very  interesting. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  information  about  him  in  Goe- 
the's "  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit."  * 

*  For  a  translation  of  this,  see  "  Characteristics  of  Goethe," 
vol.  ii.  189,  and  vol.  iii.  265. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


289 


KANT  (IMM ANUEL) .  —  Pages  15,  29, 56,  84, 134, 135,  228. 
Born  in  1724,  at  Konigsberg. 

Kant  is  one  of  those  writers  whose  name  has  become  a 
representative  of  a  class.  In  this  country  and  in  France 
there  is  scarcely  a  writer  who  does  not  feel  himself  on 
firm  ground  in  talking  of  "  the  cloudy  metaphysics  of 
Kant."  "Kant's  philosophy,"  with  a  part  of  the  world 
so  large  that  the  other  is  not  worth  talking  of,  stands  for 
German  philosophy ;  and  that  again  for  unintelligible, 
mystical  jargon,  which  everybody  is  at  liberty  to  laugh  at, 
and  nobody  bound  to  attempt  to  understand.  This  view 
of  the  matter  will  not  be  controverted  here.  Nevertheless, 
as  the  wildest  lunatic  has  lucid  intervals,  it  may  not  be 
wholly  uninteresting  to  the  curious  reader  to  see  that  Kant 
could  write  like  a  man  of  this  world  if  he  liked.  The 
little  passages  extracted  from  his  "  Tugendlehre,"  (Doc- 
trine of  Virtue,)  and  his  "  Zum  Ewigen  Frieden,"  (On 
the  Possibility  of  Permanent  Peace,)  are  surely  intelligible 
enough.  And  is  it  possible  to  find  sentiments  more  noble, 
pure,  just,  and  humane? 

The  essay  "  What  is  enlightenment?"  is  entire,  and  is 
almost  the  only  thing  in  the  volume  to  which  the  name 
"fragment"  does  not  apply.  It  was  chosen  not  only  for 
its  intrinsic  value,  but  as  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the 
author. 

The  compatibility  between  the  duty  of  the  individual 
human  being  to  use  his  reason  freely  and  intrepidly,  and 
the  duty  of  the  citizen,  or  member  of  a  social  community, 
to  conform  to  established  laws  and  rules,  is  very  clearly 
and  happily  shown.  Perhaps  the  conviction  of  this  com- 
patibility, on  the  part  of  the  great  Frederic,  stamped  its 


290  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 

peculiar  character  on  Prussia,  where  freedom  of  thought 
is  combined  with  obedience  to,  and  respect  for,  authority, 
in  a  degree  rarely,  if  ever,  witnessed. 

Kant's  personal  character  was  singular.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  cooper  at  Konigsberg,  in  which  place  he  passed 
the  whole  of  a  life  exclusively  devoted  to  science.  He 
lived  to  the  age  of  eighty,  never  having  been  more  than 
thirty  miles  from  home  ;  yet  his  knowledge  was  of  the 
most  varied  and  extensive  kind.  Nor  did  his  pure  and 
severe  morality  impair  his  social  cheerfulness.  Reichardt 
says  he  was  as  dry  in  body  as  in  mind.  A  more  attenu- 
ated, withered  frame  perhaps  never  existed ;  nor  perhaps 
did  ever  eastern  sage  live  a  life  more  pure  and  passionless. 
Yet  he  loved  a  good  table  in  cheerful  society,  where  his 
extensive  reading,  the  fund  of  amusing  anecdotes  which 
he  told  in  his  own  grave,  dry  manner,  and  the  genuine 
humor  of  his  repartees  and  observations,  rendered  him  a 
most  entertaining  and  diverting  companion.  Kant's  soci- 
ety was  sought  in  the  most  distinguished  houses  ;  not  only 
on  account  of  his  unblemished  honor  and  superior  intelli- 
gence, but  because  he  had  that  proper  sense  of  his  own 
preeminent  merit  which  enabled  him  to  claim  the  respect 
due  to  him,  and  to  bear  himself  with  dignity.  He  loved 
cards,  which  he  maintained  were  the  only  unfailing  means 
of  abstracting  and  quieting  the  thoughts  after  severe  study  ; 
and  he  did  not  like  to  pass  an  evening  without  his  game  at 
ombre.  He  had  neither  skill  in,  nor  taste  for,  the  fine 
arts.  His  memory  was  prodigious,  and  enabled  him  to 
give  singular  interest  to  his  lectures.  He  generally  de- 
livered them  in  a  morning,  leaving  himself  twenty  minutes 
between  each.  The  subjects  on  which  he  lectured  were 
logic  and  metaphysics,  and  occasionally  the  law  of  nature, 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


291 


morals,  anthropology,  physics,  and  physical  geography. 
The  latter  were  peculiarly  amusing  and  instructive  to 
young  people,  from  the  boundless  range  of  his  reading  in 
history,  travels,  biography,  romances,  and  in  short  every 
branch  of  literature  that  could  afford  materials  with  which 
to  enrich  his  elucidations  of  those  sciences.  Here  his 
memory  displayed  all  its  strength  ;  for  though  he  had  his 
lecture  written  before  him,  he  seldom  looked  at  it,  and 
often  repeated  long  series  of  names  and  dates  from  his 
head.  Even  his  lectures  on  abstract  philosophy  were  ren- 
dered clear  and  distinct  by  the  treasure  of  illustrations  and 
examples  with  which  his  memory  furnished  him  ;  and  the 
obscurity  which  many  have  found  in  his  writings  arose, 
in  great  measure,  from  his  omission  of  these,  which  he 
thought  superfluous.  His  principal  works  are,  "  Kritik 
der  reinen  Vernunft,"  "  Kritik  der  praktischen  Vernunft," 
"Kritik  der  Urtheilskraft,"  "  Metaphysische  Anfangs- 
griinde  der  Naturwissenschaft,"  "  Metaphysische  An- 
fangsgriinde  der  Rechtslehre,"  "  Anthropologic  in  prag- 
matischer  Hinsicht,"  "  Physische  Geographie,"  "  Vorle- 
sungen  der  Religionslehre,"  &c.  &c. 

I  am  not  aware  that  any  of  these  have  been  translated 
except  the  "  Critic  of  Pure  Reason,"  the  title  of  which,  it 
is  to  be  feared,  is  not  very  attractive  or  intelligible  to  the 
English  reader.  Indeed  hardly  any  of  the  above  titles 
can  convey  any  meaning  to  the  mind  through  a  literal 
translation,  and  I  have  therefore  not  attempted  to  give 
one. 

Among  Kant's  chief  antagonists  were  Herder  and  Ja- 
cobi,  whose  names  we  have  just  mentioned. 

Kant's  life  and  philosophy  form  the  subject  of  several 
works  :  Borowski's  "  Life  and  Character  of  Kant ;"  Wa- 


292 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


sianski's  "Kant  during  the  last  years  of  his  life  ;"  Jach- 
mann's  "Kant  portrayed  in  letters,"  &c.  &c. 

He  was  unquestionably  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and 
interesting  men  the  world  ever  produced,  —  perhaps,  for 
the  absolute  devotion  of  a  mind  untroubled  by  passion  to 
the  advancement  of  science,  he  is  without  an  equal. 


KNEBEL  (KARL  LUDWIG  von).—  Pages  133,  140. 

Born  in  1744,  at  Wallerstein,  in  Franconia ;  he  was 
descended  of  an  old  Netherland  family,  driven  into  exile 
by  religious  persecution.  His  father  was  chancellor  of  the 
Margravate  of  Anspach.  Knebel  studied  law  at  Halle, 
but  was  disgusted  by  the  dryness  of  the  pursuit  ;  and  be- 
ing invited  by  his  brother,  who  was  page  to  Frederic  the 
Second,  he  went  to  Potsdam,  where  he  entered  the  regi- 
ment of  the  Prince  of  Prussia.  Here  he  formed  intimacies 
with  many  distinguished  men,  Ramler,  Gleim,  Moses 
Mendelssohn,  Nicolai,  &c.  Knebel's  health  induced  him 
to  quit  the  service,  and  to  return  to  his  home.  Weimar, 
which  lay  but  little  out  of  his  way,  was  then  the  residence 
of  Wieland,  the  charm  of  whose  works  attracted  Kne- 
bel. He  was  favorably  received  by  that  distinguished  pa- 
troness of  learning,  the  Grand-Duchess  Amelia,  then  re- 
gent, and  by  the  whole  court,  and  a  proposal  was  soon 
made  to  him,  to  fix  himself  there  as  tutor  to  the  second 
prince,  Constantine.  After  some  hesitation,  arising  from 
a  feeling  of  his  unfitness  for  a  court  life,  he  accepted  the 
offer,  and  became  a  resident  at  Weimar,  at  the  time  of 
its  remarkable  brilliancy.  In  1774,  he  accompanied  the 
Hereditary  Prince  in  the  journey  mentioned  by  Goethe  in 


OF  THE  AUTHORS.  293 

his  life.*  At  Karlsruhe  he  became  acquainted  with  Klop- 
stock.  At  Paris  he  fell  into  the  society  of  young  men, 
among  whom  he  heard  much  talk  of  a  revolution  in  the 
state,  which  he  could  then  but  obscurely  and  imperfectly 
understand.  After  his  return,  and  the  early  death  of  his 
princely  pupil,  he  received  a  pension  for  life.  He  re- 
mained in  Weimar,  an  ornament  of  the  circle  which  then 
rendered  that  little  court  the  most  eminent  resort  of  intel- 
lect and  genius  in  Europe  ;  a  friend  of  Wieland  and 
Herder,  a  daily  and  welcome  guest  of  their  illustrious 
patroness,  an  acute  observer  of  the  signs  of  a  time  big  with 
mighty  events  ;  living  in  philosophical  serenity  in  his  little 
garden,  a  stranger  to  artificial  wants,  a  contented  sage  of 
the  school  of  Aristippus.  Herr  von  Knebel  married  late 
in  life,  and  retired  to  the  romantic  village  of  Umenau ; 
afterwards,  when  his  children  grew  up,  he  removed  to 
Jena,  where  he  continued,  to  the  time  of  his  death,  to 
occupy  himself  with  classical  literature,  and  retained  to  the 
last  his  frank  good-humor,  and  his  true  sense  of  every 
thing  good  and  noble  in  human  nature. 

He  published  but  little  original  poetry.  His  transla- 
tions of  Propertius  and  Lucretius  are  much  esteemed. 
He  died  in  1834. 


LESSING  (GOTTHOLD  EPHRAIM).  —  Pages  19,21, 
29,  40. 

Lessing  is,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  so  admirable  a 
writer,  that  it  is  with  great  regret  I  see  how  few  extracts 
from  his  works  I  have  found  place  for.    But  I  have  been 

*  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  15ter  Buch. 
20 


294 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


less  anxious  to  give  specimens  of  those  writers  already 
well  known  to  the  English  public  by  translations,  criti- 
cisms, or  quotations,  than  of  others  less  familiar  and  acces- 
sible. There  is  a  full  and  interesting  account  of  Lessing's 
life  and  works  in  Mr.  William  Taylor's  "  Survey  of  Ger- 
man Poetry,"  which  also  contains  his  excellent  translation 
of  "Nathan  der  Weise."  There  is  also  along  note  on 
Lessing  in  another  place,  which  I  should  only  repeat  my- 
self by  inserting  here.  The  "Laocoon,"  a  work  which 
has  done  perhaps  more  than  any  other  toward  introducing 
clearer  and  sounder  views  on  art  than  had  ever  before 
been  expounded,  has  been  recently  translated.  Lessing, 
as  a  critic,  occupies  the  first  place  in  literature,  —  as  a 
poet,  a  secondary  one ;  indeed  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
the  nice  and  accurate  spirit  of  analysis  which  characterized 
him,  are  often  found  combined  with  the  imagination  and 
fervor  of  a  poet. 

Lessing  first  opened  to  his  country  the  treasures  of 
English,  Spanish,  and  Italian  literature,  and  delivered  it 
from  the  shackles  of  French  taste  and  criticism  by  which 
it  had  been  cramped. 

His  style  may  be  regarded  as  a  model  of  German 
prose,  —  pure,  luminous,  easy,  and  vigorous.  He  appears 
rather  to  impart  his  speculations  to  the  reader,  as  they 
arise  in  his  own  mind,  than  to  put  them  into  a  didactic 
form ;  and  this  gives  to  his  style  great  vivacity,  and  a 
suggestiveness  which  stimulates  to  independent  thought. 
Lessing's  polemical  writings  are  regarded  as  a  perfect 
model  as  to  form.  He  may  be  called  an  artist  in  po- 
lemics. 

Lessing  was  born  in  1729,  at  Kamenz,  in  Upper  Lusa- 
tia,  of  which  place  his  father  was  Lutheran  minister.  He 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


295 


went  to  school  at  Meissen,  and  thence  to  the  University  of 
Leipsig,  whence  he  was  recalled  by  his  parents  in  conse- 
quence of  his  taste  for  the  theatre,  and  for  society  and 
pursuits  which,  to  their  severely  religious  minds,  appeared 
corrupting  and  ruinous.  He,  however,  returned  to  Leip- 
sig,  and  thence  removed  to  Berlin,  (1750,)  where  he  en- 
tered into  a  correspondence  with  Voltaire.  At  the  request 
of  his  parents  he  went  to  Wittenberg,  where  he  pursued 
his  studies  in  company  with  his  younger  brother,  and  took 
a  degree  of  M.  A.  From  this  time  he  led  an  unsettled 
life,  but  continued  to  produce  numerous  works,  among 
which  are  his  dramas  ' 1  Miss  Sara  Sampson,"  "Emilia 
Galotti,"  and  "  Minna  von  Barnheim,"  and  his  "  Treatise 
on  the  Laocoon;"  till,  in  1767,  he  removed  to  Hamburg, 
where  the  manager  of  the  theatre  had  made  him  advan- 
tageous offers.  Here  he  produced  his  admirable  "  Drama- 
turgic," and  his  essays  "  On  the  Study  of  the  Ancients," 
and  "  On  the  Use  of  Antique  Gems."  He  became  dis- 
gusted with  his  situation,  and  had  resolved  to  go  to  Italy, 
when  an  invitation  to  undertake  the  post  of  librarian  at 
Wolfenbiittel  caused  him  to  abandon  his  design.  The 
court  of  Brunswick  was  then  almost  the  only  one  in  Ger- 
many where  German  literature  was  cultivated,  as  well  as 
French.  Here  he  published  the  celebrated  "Wolfen- 
biittel Fragments."  He  accompanied  Prince  Leopold  of 
Brunswick  to  Italy,  in  1775,  and,  in  passing  through  Vi- 
enna, had  an  interview  with  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa. 

On  his  return,  his  theological  controversies  subjected 
him  to  suspicion  and  persecution,  which  destroyed  his 
cheerfulness  and  serenity.  To  this  circumstance,  howT- 
ever,  the  world  owes  the  noble  play  of  "  Nathan  the 
Wise." 


296 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


His  health  had  been  for  some  time  declining,  and  in 
1781  he  ended  his  active  life. 


LUTHER  (MARTINUS).  —  Page  30. 

It  would  be  worse  than  superfluous  to  say  any  thing 
about  the  character  of  this  remarkable  man.  It  is  easy  to 
understand  the  irresistible  effect  of  his  naive,  robust,  viva- 
cious style  on  the  people.  He  spoke  their  language,  but 
with  tenfold  force.  He  is  without  an  equal,  that  I  know 
of,  in  vernacular  freedom  and  energy,  which  of  course  it  is 
most  difficult  to  represent  in  another  language. 


LOUISA  (QUEEN  OF  PRUSSIA).  —  Page  156. 

Born  Princess  of  Mecklenburg  Strelitz,  A.  D.  1776. 
The  beauty  and  grace  of  the  late  Queen  of  Prussia,  her 
virtues,  sorrows,  and  early  death,  are  too  well  known  to 
need  further  mention  here.  It  is  said,  that  the  singular 
grace  which  adorned  her  person  was  not  less  conspicuous 
in  the  turn  of  her  expressions,  and  that  she  has  transmitted 
this  gift  to  her  eldest  son. 

There  is  a  little  volume  called  "Louise  die  Konigin," 
by  Frau  v.  Berg,  (Berlin,  1814,)  which  contains  several 
of  her  letters,  and  the  history  of  her  eventful  life. 

I  insert  the  extracts  from  Niebuhr's  letters  immedi- 
ately after  this  striking  and  heroic  letter  of  the  queen's, 
as  illustrating  the  state  of  Prussia  during  the  French 
invasion.  Such  is  war!  "When  princes  shed  tears," 
says  Jean  Paul,  "their  subjects  shed  blood."    And  here, 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


297 


by  the  side  of  the  sorrows  of  the  queen,  we  behold  the 
desolation  of  the  peasant. 


MERKEL.  —  Page  33. 


MOSER  (JUSTUS).  —  Page  85. 

The  writings  of  Moser  are  little  known  in  this  country  ; 
yet  they  are  distinguished  by  a  vigorous,  homely  good 
sense,  a  freedom  from  all  affectation,  a  knowledge  of  the 
condition  of  the  laboring  classes,  and  a  zeal  for  their  im- 
provement and  happiness,  which  obtained  for  him,  not 
unjustly,  the  name  of  the  Franklin  of  Germany.  He  was 
born  in  1720,  at  Osnabriick,  where  his  father  filled  high 
offices  under  the  government.  He  early  gave  proofs  of 
great  talents,  which  were  judiciously  cultivated  by  his 
mother.  He  studied  law  at  Jena  and  Gottingen  ;  but  the 
open  book  of  human  life  was  his  favorite  and  most  impor- 
tant study.  As  a  man  of  business,  he  was  the  able  and 
zealous  defender  of  oppressed  innocence,  and  resisted  alone 
the  arbitrary  will  of  the  then  ruler  of  Osnabriick.  The 
confidence  of  his  countrymen  raised  him,  in  1747,  to  the 
honorable  post  of  "  Advocatus  Patriae,"  and  the  Land- 
stande  appointed  him  Secretary  and  Syndic  of  the  Order 
of  Knights.  His  noble  character  was  put  to  the  test 
during  the  troubles  of  the  Seven  Years'  War,  and  secured 
him  the  respect  of  Duke  Ferdinand  of  Brunswick.  He 
was  employed  for  eight  months  in  London  in  transacting 
the  affairs  of  the  troops  sudsidized  by  England,  and  his 


298 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


residence  in  this  country  added  much  to  his  practical  ex- 
perience. He  was  for  twenty  years,  (during  the  minority 
of  the  English  prince,  who,  in  1761,  was  acknowledged 
protestant  bishop  and  sovereign  of  Osnabriick,)  virtually, 
though  not  nominally,  chief-councillor  of  the  regent.  Noth- 
ing but  Moser's  great  talents,  knowledge  of  business,  and 
industry,  united  to  his  unswerving  integrity,  fairness,  and 
disinterestedness,  would  have  enabled  him  to  steer  his 
course,  free  from  all  suspicion  or  reproach,  between  the 
conflicting  interests  of  the  sovereign  and  the  states,  both 
of  whom  he  served.  For  six  years  he  was  justiciary  of 
the  criminal  court  of  Osnabriick;  and  on  his  resignation, 
was  appointed  privy  referendary  of  the  government,  which 
post  he  held  till  his  death. 

Moser's  objects  in  writing  were  far  higher  than  the 
gratification  of  the  vanity,  or  the  acquisition  of  the  fame, 
of  an  author ;  yet  there  is  no  writer  whose  works  have  a 
more  enduring  reputation.  They  may  serve  as  a  model 
for  all  who  are  inspired  with  the  noble  desire  of  rendering 
intelligible  to  the  people  their  own  true  interests; — the 
highest  office  in  which  genius,  wit,  learning,  or  eloquence 
can  ever  be  employed. 

Gifted  in  an  eminent  degree  with  a  sound  mind  in  a 
sound  body,  he  devoted  both  to  the  service  of  his  country 
and  of  mankind,  and  he  closed  a  happy,  useful,  and  hon- 
orable life  at  the  age  of  74,  "having  had  much  to  re- 
joice, little  to  sadden,  and  nothing  to  offend  him,"  as  he 
himself  thankfully  acknowledged.  There  is  a  beautiful 
passage  in  Goethe's  life,*  of  which  I  subjoin  an  abridged 
translation. 

*  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  book  xiii. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


299 


"The  little  essays  or  papers  of  this  admirable  man,  re- 
lating to  matters  of  social  and  political  interest,  had  been 
printed  some  years  before  in  the  Osnabriick  newspaper, 
and  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  by  Herder,  who  suffered 
nothing  of  merit  to  pass  unobserved.  Moser's  daughter 
was  now  occupied  in  collecting  them. 

"  They  were  all  conceived  in  one  spirit,  and  are  all  dis- 
tinguished for  their  intimate  knowledge  of  the  condition  of 
the  middle  and  lower  classes,  and  indeed  of  the  whole 
fabric  of  society.  The  author,  with  a  perfect  freedom 
from  prejudice,  analyses  the  relations  of  the  several  classes 
to  each  other,  and  also  those  existing  between  the  several 
towns  and  villages  of  the  country.  The  public  revenues 
and  expenditure,  the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  the 
various  branches  of  industry,  are  brought  distinctly  before 
us,  and  old  times  compared  and  contrasted  with  new. 

"The  internal  condition  of  Osnabriick,  and  its  relation 
to  other  countries,  particularly  England,  are  clearly  stated, 
and  practical  consequences  deduced.  Though  he  calls 
them  '  Patriotic  Fantasies,'  their  contents  are  in  fact  true 
and  practicable. 

"And  as  the  whole  structure  of  society  rests  on  the 
basis  of  family,  he  devotes  his  especial  attention  to  that. 
He  treats,  seriously  or  sportively,  of  the  changes  in  man- 
ners and  habits,  dress,  diet,  domestic  life,  and  education. 
It  would  be  necessary  to  make  an  inventory  of  every  inci- 
dent of  social  life,  if  we  would  exhaust  the  subjects  which 
he  handles.  And  how  inimitable  is  the  handling !  It  is 
a  thorough  man  of  business  speaking  to  the  people  in  a 
weekly  paper,  in  order  to  render  intelligible  to  all  the  in- 
tentions and  projects  of  a  wise  and  benevolent  govern- 
ment ;  by  no  means  in  a  merely  didactic  style,  but  in  a 


300 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


variety  of  forms,  which  we  might  almost  call  poetical,  and 
which  certainly  deserve  to  be  called  rhetorical,  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word.  He  is  always  master  of  his  subject, 
and  has  the  art  of  giving  a  lively  color  to  the  most  serious ; 
sometimes  assuming  one  mask,  sometimes  another,  some- 
times speaking  in  his  own  person,  with  a  gay  and  tem- 
pered irony  ;  vigorous  and  true,  sometimes  even  rough 
and  almost  coarse ;  but  in  every  case  so  appropriate,  that 
it  is  impossible  not  to  admire  the  talents,  the  good  sense, 
the  facility,  lightness,  taste,  and  originality  of  the  writer. 
In  the  choice  of  his  subjects,  his  profound  knowledge  of 
them,  enlarged  views,  skilful  and  appropriate  handling, 
deep  and  yet  gay  humor,  I  can  compare  him  to  none  but 
Franklin." 

Nothing  can  be  added  to  this  just  and  beautiful  descrip- 
tion of  Moser's  "  Patriotische  Fantasien."  It  remains 
only  to  say,  that  his  "History  of  Osnabriick  "  is  equally 
remarkable  for  the  accurate  antiquarian  knowledge  it  ex- 
hibits. He  left  some  other  works,  among  which  is  a  de- 
fence of  the  German  language  and  literature,  in  answer  to 
Frederic  the  Great. 

In  the  paper  I  have  given,  the  author's  admirable  good 
sense  is  applied  to  one  of  the  points  in  human  life  on 
which  the  greatest  dearth  of  it  has  hitherto  been  displayed. 
How  many  a  heart-ache,  how  many  a  misunderstanding, 
how  much  disgust  and  alienation,  how  much  secret  and 
blank  despair,  —  nay,  even  despairing  guilt, — may  be 
traced  to  the  want  of  sane  notions,  chastised  hopes,  and 
rational  expectations,  at  the  beginning  of  married  life  ! 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


301 


MULLER  (JOHANNES  von).  —  Pages  1,  1G5. 

Was  born  in  1752,  at  Schaffhausen,  where  his  father 
was  pastor  and  teacher  in  the  Latin  school.  Miiller  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  examples  on  record,  of  the  force 
and  value  of  early  impressions.  From  his  mother,  who 
was  a  woman  of  superior  understanding,  he  imbibed  the 
piety  which  never  deserted  him  ;  and  from  her  father,  a 
clergyman,  who  had  a  great  knowledge  of  history,  the 
taste  which  decided  the  occupation  and  pursuit  of  his 
whole  future  life.  Before  the  child  could  read,  he  had 
learned  from  the  lips  of  his  kind  grandfather  all  the  most 
remarkable  events  in  the  history  of  Switzerland  ;  and  from 
him  he  inherited  his  expansive  benevolence,  his  cheerful 
view  of  the  destinies  of  mankind,  and  his  passionate  love 
of  historical  research.  His  short  sight  and  slight,  fragile 
body  unfitted  him  for  the  society  and  sports  of  boys  of  his 
own  age ;  but  his  active  mind  and  eager  desire  of  knowl- 
edge excited  the  hopes  of  his  parents  and  teachers.  At 
nine  years  old  he  gave  proof  of  his  singular  gifts  of  rapid 
and  just  apprehension,  faithful  memory,  and  admirable 
power  of  compilation,  in  an  attempt  he  made  to  write  the 
history  of  Schaffhausen.  At  thirteen  he  began  to  read  by 
stealth  the  ancient  classics,  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for 
the  enthusiasm  for  freedom  and  for  moral  grandeur,  the 
clearness  and  order  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  elegance  and 
vigor  of  expression  which  distinguished  him.  In  1772, 
he  wrote  his  "Bellum  Cimbricum,"  and  about  the  same 
time  preached  successfully  as  candidate  for  holy  orders,  and 
became  professor  of  Greek  in  the  gymnasium  at  Schaff- 
hausen. He  had  already  begun  to  devote  his  attention  to 
the  original  sources  of  Swiss  history,  and  had  entered  into 


302 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


correspondences  with  several  learned  men,  above  all,  with 
Bonstetten,  to  whom  he  addressed  his  admirable  "  Letters 
of  a  Student  to  his  Friend."  At  Bonstetten's  request, 
he  went  to  Geneva  as  private  tutor;  but  he  soon  ex- 
changed this  for  a  freer  and  more  congenial  situation  in 
the  house  of  Francis  Kinloch,  of  South  Carolina.  In  the 
society  of  this  young  man,  with  whom,  and  with  whose 
relations  in  England,  he  formed  a  lasting  friendship,  he 
passed  what  he  always  regarded  as  the  happiest  years  of 
his  life.  In  1776,  when  Kinloch  returned  to  America, 
Muller  became  an  inmate  in  the  house  of  Bonnet,  the  cele- 
brated naturalist.  With  a  view  to  realize  a  small  inde- 
pendence, he  afterwards  gave  lectures  on  history,  which 
were  attended  principally  by  young  Englishmen,  among 
whom  was  Charles  Abbott  (afterwards  Lord  Colchester). 

These  lectures  formed  the  substance  of  his  "Twenty- 
four  Books  of  Universal  History,"  and  were  much  admired 
by  his  hearers  for  their  vivid  descriptions  and  historical 
impartiality.  In  1779,  he  published  the  first  volume  of  his 
"History  of  Switzerland,"  and  after  a  short  residence  at 
Berlin  removed  to  Cassel,  where  he  was  appointed  pro- 
fessor of  history.  Here  he  published  several  essays, 
among  which  were  the  "  Reisen  der  Papste,"  a  small  but 
valuable  work,  showing  the  protection  afforded  by  the 
hierarchy  against  the  violence  of  temporal  princes.  In 
1785,  he  was  invited  by  the  Elector  Friedrich  Karl  Joseph 
to  Mainz,  where  he  published  several  works  relating  to 
the  events  of  the  times.  Here  he  remained,  in  spite  of  the 
most  advantageous  offers  from  the  courts  of  Vienna  and 
Berlin,  the  former  of  which  conferred  on  him  the  dignity 
of  noble  and  knight  of  the  empire.  In  1792,  Mainz  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  French,  and  Muller  was  invited  by 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


303 


Custine  to  take  part  in  the  new  administration.  He  re- 
fused, and  afterwards  went  to  Vienna,  where  he  again 
employed  his  pen  on  subjects  of  present  interest,  in  which 
he  displayed  great  eloquence.  In  1804  he  left  Vienna, 
and  passing  through  Geneva,  where  he  saw  for  the  last 
time  his  friend  Kinloch,  went  to  Berlin.  He  assisted  in 
the  publication  of  Herder's  works,  to  which  he  contrib- 
uted notes  on  the  history  of  the  Cid,  and  published  the 
fourth  volume  of  his  "  History  of  Switzerland,"  which  he 
had  worked  at  during  eight  troubled  years.  He  was  in 
Berlin  when  the  French  enlered  it,  and  was  treated  with 
great  kindness  and  consideration  by  Napoleon.  He  was 
not  insensible  to  this,  and  in  1807  accepted  the  invitation 
of  the  conqueror  to  Fontainbleau,  and  was  appointed  sec- 
retary of  state  in  the  new  kingdom  of  Westphalia,  and 
decorated  by  king  Jerome  with  the  Order  of  the  Lion. 
He  was  ill  at  ease  and  unhappy  in  his  new  situation,  lost 
his  health,  and  on  some  occasions  his  memory  and  utter- 
ance. The  king  accepted  his  resignation,  but  made  him 
councillor  of  state  and  minister  of  public  instruction.  Here 
he  had  the  same  vexations  to  endure,  till  at  length  the 
spectacle  of  what  was  passing  around  him  broke  down  the 
powers  of  his  mind,  the  last  sparks  of  which  gleam  forth  in 
the  introduction  to  the  fifth  volume  of  his  "History  of 
Switzerland,"  (1808.)  His  letters  written  at  this  time  are 
touching  proofs  of  the  conflict  going  on  in  a  heart  once  so 
joyous.    In  1809  he  died. 

Opinions  are  divided  as  to  the  merits  of  Johannes  v. 
Miiller,  both  as  a  citizen  and  as  a  writer.  His  reputation 
suffered,  as  well  as  his  peace  of  mind,  from  taking  office 
under  the  French. 

He  belongs  to  a  class  of  historians  who  deal  rather  in 


304 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


philosophical  speculations,  than  in  that  intimate  knowledge 
of  all  the  sources  of  history,  which  enables  the  writer  to 
present  a  period  to  the  mind  of  the  reader  as  an  organic 
whole.  The  new  historical  school  has  introduced  a  mode 
of  studying  and  writing  history  so  far  more  profound  and 
comprehensive,  that  writers  of  Muller's  class  are  in  some 
respects  superseded.  Yet  nobody  can  deny  him  the  merits 
of  a  strong  love  of  truth,  an  eloquent  style,  stately  cadence, 
and  singular  power  of  description.  His  battle-scenes  are 
highly  dramatic,  and  all  the  local  incidents  and  coloring 
are  portrayed  with  great  vividness  and  fidelity.  I  had 
translated  one  of  the  most  celebrated,  the  battle  of  Sem- 
pach,  and  intended  to  add  it  to  my  little  collection,  but  I 
found  it  would  occupy  too  much  space. 

Muller  has  been  called  the  German  Tacitus. 


MULLER  (KARL  OTFRIED).  —  Pages  46,  136. 

The  death  of  this  eminent  scholar  and  historian,  last 
year,  was  the  subject  of  deep  and  universal  regret  in  Ger- 
many. Even  in  places  far  from  his  home,  and  among 
persons  to  whom  he  was  known  only  by  reputation,  his 
loss  was  spoken  of  as  a  national  calamity.  Such  a  senti- 
ment did  honor  not  only  to  the  man  who  could  inspire  it, 
but  to  the  people  sufficiently  enlightened  to  appreciate  the 
value  of  men  engaged  in  pursuits  necessarily  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  the  mass. 

Muller  was  professor  at  Gottingen,  and  married  a 
daughter  of  the  venerable  and  eminent  jurist  Hugo.  His 
name  was,  I  believe,  first  made  known  to  the  English  pub- 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


305 


lie  by  the  translation  of  his  "History  of  the  Dorians."* 
The  history  of  Greek  literature,  published  by  the  Useful 
Knowledge  Society,  was  also  by  him.  It  was  written  ex- 
pressly for  that  society,  and  sent  over  to  this  country  in 
manuscript.    It  is  unfortunately  incomplete. 

A  friend  who  knew  him  at  the  University  of  Berlin  says, 
"  Miiller  worked  from  fifteen  to  seventeen  hours  a  day. 
His  only  recreation  was  change  of  pursuits,  or  learned 
discussions  with  Boeckh  and  Buttmann.  What  Tieck 
says  of  Novalis,  applies  to  him,  "  Never  was  he  seen  lan- 
guid or  exhausted,  never  out  of  spirits  or  out  of  humor." 
Study  did  not  corrode  his  strength  or  impair  his  bloom. 
Goethe's  maxim,  "Always  to  attend  to  the  thing  immedi- 
ately before  him,"  enabled  him  so  soon  to  reach  the  sum- 
mit. He  was  extremely  attached  to  Boeckh.  From  him 
he  learned  to  make  Herodotus  the  basis  of  his  study.  "  I 
devote  all  my  leisure  minutes  to  him,"  he  used  to  say,  for 
he  seldom  reckoned  by  hours. 

He  went  to  Greece,  so  long  the  subject  of  his  research 
and  meditation,  last  year.  Though  warned  by  his  friends 
of  the  dangers  of  that  treacherous  climate  during  the  heats, 
nothing  could  induce  him  to  suspend  his  labors  ;  he  trusted 
to  his  robust  constitution,  which  unhappily  afforded  him  no 
security,  and  fell  a  victim  to  fever  in  the  prime  of  life,  and 
in  all  the  vigor  of  his  faculties. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  one  of  the  last  letters 
he  wrote,  dated  June  27,  1840. 

"  We  have  terminated  our  ramble  over  the  Peloponne- 
sus, which  occupied  forty  days,  without  any  disaster,  and 

*  Translated  by  H.  Tufnell  and  G.  C.  Lewis.  First  edition 
published  in  1830.    Second  edition  published  in  1839. 


306 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


with  great  enjoyment.  We  saw  snow-covered  mountains, 
smiling  valleys,  romantic  glens,  all  full  of  gushing  brooks 
and  of  the  richest  vegetation,  and  discovered  some  ruins 
of  temples  and  cities,  of  which  no  mention  has  been  made 
(as  far  as  I  know)  by  others.  The  main  thing,  however, 
to  me,  was  the  clear  perception  one  gains  of  the  conforma- 
tion and  natural  predestination  of  the  most  remarkable 
districts  and  spots  of  Greece ;  the  features  of  nature 
are  here  so  sharply  defined,  that  they  stamp  this  percep- 
tion on  the  mind  in  a  manner  which  I  hope  can  never  be 
effaced.  .  . 

"I  spent  the  whole  of  this  morning  with  Mr.  Fellows, 
an  Englishman,  who  has  made  two  successive  tours  in 
Lycia,  and  has  brought  the  most  interesting  inscriptions 
and  drawings  from  that  small  country,  which  has  hitherto 
been  a  terra  incognita.  Happy  is  the  classical  traveller 
who  can  limit  his  researches  to  so  narrow  a  region  and  so 
virgin  a  soil!    For  me,  the  East, is  all  in  the  future." 

A  "future"  which  was  not  granted  him.  He  had  be- 
gun excavations  at  Delphi,  and  had  discovered  the  roof  of 
a  Greek  temple.  A  few  days  after,  he  was  carried  to 
Athens,  where  he  expired. 

It  is  a  curious  coincidence  that  his  will  was  dated  Aug. 
1,  1839;  on  that  day  twelvemonth  he  expired.  On  the 
map  of  Athens,  which  he  used  in  his  lectures  at  Gottingen, 
he  made  a  cross  to  mark  the  Academy,  where  he  now  lies 
buried. 

The  funeral  oration  pronounced  over  his  coffin  by  Phil- 
ippos  Joannou  breathes  the  eloquence  of  genuine  grief. 
Tt  concludes  with  these  words  : 

"  Too  soon  has  inexorable  death  torn  him  from  us, — 
torn  him  from  the  country  and  the  university  of  which  he 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


307 


was  the  pride  and  ornament.  Hellas,  which  through  his 
whole  life  had  occupied  his  mind,  was  destined  to  receive 
and  to  enshrine  within  her  bosom  his  mortal  remains.  He 
was  doomed  to  sleep  the  last  sleep  in  glorious  Athens, 
and  to  rest  from  his  labors  on  the  hill  of  Plato's  Academy, 
around  which,  when  living,  his  spirit  so  often  hovered, 
and  where  his  ashes  are  mingled  with  the  ashes  of  the 
great  and  the  wise,  who  were  the  objects  of  his  imitation. 
Accept,  O  departed  spirit !  the  tears  of  this  assembly  ; 
accept  this  last  farewell ;  and  live  on  to  eternity !  The 
just  live  for  all  times,  and  their  recompense  is  in  the  Lord, 
and  their  spirit  abideth  with  the  Most  High." 
The  following  epitaph  was  written  upon  him : 

"  He  lies  on  the  earth  of  Greece,  as  a  hero  on  his  shield." 

His  intimate  friend  Jacob  Grimm  wrote  thus  : 
"  Miiller  stands  before  my  mind's  eye  all  day  long,  — 
his  person,  his  voice,  and  all  the  old  recollections  which 
were  kept  alive  by  his  letters,  are  always  present  to  me. 
It  may  indeed  be  said,  that  he  died  a  beautiful  death,  and 
lies  gloriously  interred ;  —  nay,  that  even  the  delirium  of 
fever  brought  before  him  only  the  magnificent  and  lovely 
images  of  Greece,  and  spared  him  all  the  pain  of  longing 
after  home.  But  what  slender  comfort  is  this  for  the  great 
calamity  of  his  death  !  And  what  a  sorrow  is  ours,  that 
he  returns  no  more  !  After  the  lapse  of  years,  when  we 
too  are  no  more,  this  may  seem  a  sufficient  consolation, 
and  he  most  fortunate ;  but  to  us,  and  to  the  just  grief  of 
the  present,  what  avails  it  ?  I  would  rather  his  grave  had 
been  dug  in  barbarian  earth,  after  he  had  lived  to  enlighten 
the  world  by  his  labors,  and  to  earn  the  full  harvest  of  his 
fame." 


308 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


Otfried  Miiller  was  a  pupil  of  Boeckh,  and  belongs  to  the 
same  school,  —  a  school  entirely  the  growth  of  this  age. 
Formerly  the  province  of  the  historian  and  the  philolo- 
gist were  perfectly  distinct ;  nobody  thought  of  reading 
the  works  of  Bentley  or  Heyne  with  a  view  to  obtain  a 
knowledge  of  the  institutions,  character,  or  history  of  the 
Greeks;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  historians  like  Rollin, 
Gillies,  and  others,  were  content  to  compile  from  the  more 
direct  and  obvious  sources,  to  arrange  traditional  facts  in 
an  interesting  narrative,  or  to  use  them  plausibly  in  the 
support  of  preconceived  theories.  Histories  of  this  kind 
may  now  be  said  to  have  completely  lost  their  authority 
among  scholars,  especially  in  Germany.  The  German 
school,  of  which  Otfried  Miiller  was  one  of  the  brightest 
ornaments,  has  introduced  far  more  extensive  views  of  his- 
torical criticism  and  research. 

Miiller  was  remarkable  for  the  comprehensiveness  and 
accuracy  of  his  knowledge  of  antiquity  :  it  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  languages  and  institutions  of  the  ancients, 
but  extended  to  every  branch  of  ancient  art.  The  grand 
object  of  his  labors  was  to  gain  a  distinct  view  of  antiquity 
as  an  organic  whole,  endowed  with  all  the  warmth  of  in- 
dividuality. 

"  That  the  author,"  say  his  translators,  "  has  by  long, 
patient,  and  sober  investigation  penetrated  into  the  depths 
of  ancient  Grecian  history  ;  that  he  has  removed  much 
which  was  false,  and  substituted  what  is  true  ;  and  fre- 
quently found  the  master-key  to  the  windings  and  intrica- 
cies of  mythology,  must  be  acknowledged,  even  by  those 
who  will  not  assent  implicitly  to  all  his  conclusions."  * 

*  Translator's  Preface  to  the  "  History  and  Antiquities  of  the 
Doric  Race." 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


309 


His  principal  works  are  "  iEginetica,"  "  Orchomenos 
und  die  Minyer,"  "  Die  Dorier,"  "  Prolegomena  zu  einer 
wissenschaftlichen  Mythologie,"  "Die  Etrusker,"  and 
"  Handbuch  der  Archaologie  der  Kunst,"  from  the  last  of 
which  my  extracts  are  taken.  It  is  much  to  be  wished, 
that  this  and  the  "  Etrusker  "  (a  work  of  much  originality 
and  learning)  were  rendered  into  English.  Miiller's  edi- 
tion of  the  "  Eumenides "  of  JEschylus,  with  copious 
notes,  is  translated  into  English. 

Miiller  was  born  in  Silesia,  in  1797.  He  visited  France 
and  England  in  1822,  in  the  prosecution  of  his  studies. 


NIEBUHR  (BARTHOLD  GEORG).  —  Pages  108,  123, 
158,  189. 

There  is  perhaps  no  German  writer  whose  character 
and  works  are  so  well  known  in  England  as  those  of  Nie- 
buhr.  It  is  therefore  the  less  necessary  for  me  to  attempt 
to  describe  them.  The  translation  of  his  Roman  history, 
by  the  Rev.  Connop  Thirlwall#  and  the  Rev.  Julius  Hare, 
had  already  excited  the  attention  and  admiration  of  the 
instructed  part  of  the  public,  when  the  melancholy  cir- 
cumstances attending  his  death,  and  the  singular  way  in 
which  that  event  was  said  to  be  connected  with  the  great 
convulsions  then  agitating  the  political  world,  awakened 
a  strong  interest  in  his  personal  history.  This  feeling  was 
gratified  by  the  appearance  of  the  three  volumes  of  biog- 
raphy and  letters  from  which  the  foregoing  extracts  are 
taken.    A  notice  of  them  appeared  a  short  time  ago  in  the 

*  Now  Bishop  of  St.  David's. 
21 


310 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


Athenaeum,  and  another  in  the  Quarterly  Review.  To 
these  I  refer  my  readers. 

From  my  own  recollection  of  him  I  may  venture  to  add 
a  few  words.  His  person  was  diminutive,  almost  to  mean- 
ness, but  his  presence  very  imposing,  —  so  at  least  I  felt 
it.  His  head  and  eye  were  grand,  austere,  and  command- 
ing. He  had  all  the  authority  of  intelligence,  and  looked 
and  spoke  like  one  not  used  to  contradiction.  He  lived  a 
life  of  study  and  domestic  seclusion,  but  he  conversed 
freely  and  unreservedly. 

He  had  a  singular  attachment  to  the  place  of  his  birth, 
and  a  profound  reverence  for  his  father,  and  for  the  race 
from  which  he  sprang,  —  the  free  peasants  of  Ditmarsch. 
Though  no  man  had  more  the  art  of  keeping  at  an  im- 
measurable distance  those  whom  he  regarded  as  the  vulgar, 
and  though  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  an  air 
more  expressive  of  conscious  superiority,  he  had  a  lively 
sympathy  with  the  people,  and  a  disdain  of  those  petty 
distinctions  behind  which  men  of  inferior  merit  entrench 
themselves.  Niebuhr  neither  needed  nor  desired  any  but 
what  he  could  confer  on  himself.  His  manner  of  living 
was  the  most  simple  possible.  He  was  untitled,  and  left 
to  his  children  only  that  "more  enduring  nobility,"  of 
which  he  so  proudly  speaks  in  his  memoir  of  his  father.* 
On  the  1st  of  January,  1828,  he  brought  me  that  little 
pamphlet  as  a  new  year's  gift,  and  I  hardly  saw  him  after. 

The  present  king  of  Prussia  has  erected  a  monument, 
to  record  his  attachment  to  his  former  instructor  and 
friend. 

*  Published  in  English  by  the  Useful  Knowledge  Society. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


311 


NOVALIS  (FRIEDRICH  von  HARDENBERG).  —  Pages 
20,  21,  33,  38,  43,  44,  51,  66,  71,  85,  93,  97,  110,  133, 
173. 

Novalis  is  not  likely  to  be  popular  in  England  ;  he  left 
little  more  than  fragments,  —  beginnings  of  undertakings 
which  he  did  not  live  to  complete.  He  deserves,  perhaps 
more  than  any  other  writer,  the  character  of  mystical, 
which  we  are  so  fond  of  applying  indiscriminately  to  Ger- 
man writers.  Some  of  his  poems  are  extremely  beautiful, 
and  even  sublime,  particularly  one  called  "  The  Dead  to 
the  Living,"  and  some  of  the  "  Hymns  to  Night"  ;  but  I 
confess  that  he  does  not  appear  to  me  free  from  affected 
cloudiness  and  mysticism,  or  from  far-fetched  conceits  and 
obscurantist  prejudices. 

The  moral  tone  of  his  writings  is  throughout  pure  and 
lofty;  the  feeling  of  religion  (Religiositat)  is  profoundly 
impressed  on  every  sentence,  but  in  characters  unintelli- 
gible to  persons  in  whose  minds  dogmatical  and  polemical 
theology  take  the  place  of  that  sentiment.  In  short, 
neither  the  merits  nor  the  faults  of  Novalis  fit  him  for 
England. 

Friedrich  von  Hardenberg,  for  that  was  his  name,  was 
born  in  1772,  at  the  seat  of  his  family,  in  the  territory 
of  the  Counts  of  Mansfeld,  and  died  at  Meissenfels,  in 
1801. 

Mr.  Carlyle's  article  on  Novalis,  in  the  Foreign  Quar- 
terly Review,  makes  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  go  into  any 
details  concerning  his  life  and  works.  The  reader  may 
also  find  a  biographical  and  critical  notice  of  him,  trans- 
lated from  the  German,  in  a  compilation  on  German  litera- 


312 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


ture,  published  some  time  ago.*  Above  all,  I  may  refer 
the  reader  of  German  to  the  beautiful  memoir  prefixed  to 
his  works  by  his  friend  Tieck. 


OEHLENSCHLAGER  (ADAM).  —  Page  163. 

Oehlenschlager  is  a  native  of  Denmark,  and  most  of  his 
works  are  written  both  in  Danish  and  in  German.  He  is 
chiefly  known  as  a  dramatic  poet,  and  especially  by  his 
beautifnl  tragedy  of  "  Corregio."  This  is  one  of  the  ro- 
mances and  dramas  of  art  which  followed  the  appearance 
of  Goethe's  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  and  "  Torquato  Tasso  "  ; 
their  purpose  was  to  trace  not  only  the  external  incidents 
in  the  life  of  an  artist,  but  his  artistical  developement,  — a 
kind  of  literature  nearly  confined,  I  believe,  to  Germany. 

"  Coreggio  "  is  among  the  very  best  specimens  of  it. 
Though  Oehlenschlager's  genius  is  decidedly  northern,  it 
has  been  tinged  by  the  South,  in  which  he  travelled.  His 
"  Coreggio  "  breathes  the  warm  and  melancholy  repose  of 
an  Italian  night,  combined  with  the  most  pure  and  lofty 
tenderness.  There  is  no  fierce  passion,  still  less  any  vio- 
lent action.  The  tragedy  is  the  silent  and  unequal  conflict 
of  genius  with  the  world.  But  the  reader  will  do  well  to 
refer  to  an  account,  and,  I  think,  a  translation  of  it,  which 
appeared  in  Blackwood's  Magazine. 

Oehlenschlager  has  likewise  written  "  Aladdin,"  "  Ha- 
kon  Jarl,"  "Axel  und  Walburg,"  and  several  other 
dramas. 

*  Characteristics  of  Goethe;  i.  307. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


313 


PESTALOZZI  (JOHANN  HEINRICH).  —  Page  70. 

Fichte's  noble  eulogium  on  Pestalozzi,*  which  I  have 
inserted  in  the  text,  renders  it  unnecessary  to  say  more  of 
the  merits  of  that  singular  man.  He  was  the  most  origi- 
nal and  efficient  of  the  leaders  in  the  great  movement, 
which  is  now  almost  universally  recognised  as  irresistible, 
in  favor  of  the  moral  and  mental  culture  of  the  people. 
What  was  done  in  this  country  by  Joseph  Lancaster,  is 
by  no  means  to  be  undervalued  ;  he  called  attention  to  the 
subject.  But  though  he  saw  the  necessity  for  doing  some- 
thing, he  had  not  the  smallest  idea  what  to  do,  and  his 
methods  are  almost  universally  superseded  by  better. 
Pestalozzi,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  man  of  genius,  as  well 
as  of  boundless  benevolence,  and  threw  out  a  vast  quantity 
of  the  most  prolific  suggestions,  on  which  all  succeeding 
laborers  in  the  same  field  have  continued  to  work  ;  —  and 
must  continue,  since  they  are  founded  on  the  nature  of  the 
human  mind. 

Pestalozzi  was  born  at  Zurich,  in  1746,  and  died  in  1827. 
His  long  life  was  one  of  ceaseless  struggle,  — an  unbroken 
series  of  ill-requited  services  to  mankind. 

His  chief  works  are  "  Leonhard  and  Gertrude,"  "  Chris- 
topher and  Else,"  "  Evenings  of  a  Recluse,"  "Inquiries 
into  the  Course  of  Nature  in  the  Developement  of  the 
Human  Race,"  "  How  Gertrude  teaches  her  Children," 
"The  Mother's  Book,"  and  many  other  elementary 
works. 


Page  144. 


314 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


RAHEL  (FRAU  von  VARNHAGEN).  —  Pages  60,  66,97, 
147,  154,  199,  219. 

There  is  an  article  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  on  this  remarkable 
woman,  which  of  course  leaves  me  little  to  say. 

She  ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  an  authoress,  for  it 
does  not  appear  that  she  ever  wrote  for  the  press.  Her 
letters,  together  with  a  memoir  of  her,  were  published  by 
her  husband,  Varnhagen  von  Ense,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished German  writers  now  living.  The  works  by 
which  he  is  chiefly  known  are  his  biographical  sketches, 
or  rather,  I  should  say,  finished  portraits,  for  they  have 
not  only  striking  resemblance,  but  skilful  handling  and 
appropriate  color.  It  is  strange  that  some  of  them  have 
not  found  their  way  into  the  English  language  ;  though 
indeed  it  would  be  difficult  to  do  justice  to  the  correctness 
and  finish  with  which  Herr  von  Varnhagen  writes  his  own. 
Not  less  perfect  in  their  way  are  his  criticisms.  They 
have  exactly  the  qualities  which  both  author  and  public 
ought  to  desire.  They  are  written  in  the  most  courteous 
and  gentlemanlike  tone,  entirely  superior  to  all  the  vul- 
garities of  personal  spite  or  party  warfare,  yet  with  a  con- 
scientious determination  to  point  out  whatever  either  the 
author  or  the  public  ought  to  be  told.  I  have  always  re- 
garded them  as  models  of  that  kind  of  writing,  and  ex- 
tremely useful  as  studies. 

Rahel's  writings  cannot  be  disjoined  from  her  life.  They 
are  letters,  and  chiefly  filled  with  outpourings  of  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  moment. 

She  was  unquestionably  a  woman  of  great  talents  and 
extraordinary  qualities,  as  the  influence  she  exercised  over 
the  eminent  men  who  formed  her  circle  abundantly  proves. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


315 


1  must  confess,  however,  that  her  letters  do  not  appear  to 
me  entirely  to  justify  her  fame.  They  contain  profound 
and  sagacious  reflections  ;  but  there  is  a  sort  of  parade  of 
originality  and  depth  which  wearies  and  puzzles.  In  or- 
der to  seem  new,  things  are  said  unintelligibly.  The  style 
is  disjointed,  even  beyond  all  precedent  in  these  days  of 
dashes.  The  letters  contain  evidence  of  an  active  and 
vigorous  mind ;  but  they  are  deficient  in  nature,  repose, 
simplicity,  and  ease.  Mr.  Carlyle's  test  of  genius,  —  un- 
consciousness, could  certainly  not  be  successfully  applied 
in  this  case.  But  Rahel  had  suffered  much,  and  pondered 
much  on  her  sufferings.  A  woman  who  does  this,  comes 
at  length  to  regard  her  own  feelings  as  an  artist  does  his 
subject.  They  are  an  ever  present  material,  on  which  her 
imagination  works.  This  is  apt  to  lead  to  all  manner  of 
voluntary  and  involuntary  exaggerations,  from  which  men 
in  active  life  are  saved  by  the  necessity  they  lie  under  of 
attending  strenuously  to  external  things. 


RICHTER,  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  (commonly  called 
JEAN  PAUL).  —  Pages  4,  16,  21,  28,  38,  43,  48,  63,69, 
72,  80,  83,  95,  110,  126,  134,  145,  151,  154,  165,  174,  187, 
199. 

I  have  perhaps  given  an  undue  portion  of  my  small 
space  to  Jean  Paul ;  but  there  is  no  author  who  offers  so 
many  passages  which  it  is  easy  and  tempting  to  detach,  as 
the  innumerable  selections  from  him  published  in  Germany 
will  bear  witness.  Whether  this  is  praise  or  censure,  I 
leave  it  to  the  reader  to  decide. 

Jean  Paul  is  so  popular  a  writer  in  his  own  country, 


316 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


that  it  seemed  desirable  to  give  something  like  an  adequate 
sample  of  his  manner,  —  the  more  so,  as  few  of  his  works 
will,  I  should  think,  be  translated  entire.  They  require 
far  too  much  familiarity  with  German  life,  far  too  much 
toleration  for  oddness  and  extravagance,  to  be  popular  in 
England. 

Among  his  countrymen,  Jean  Paul's  humor  is  extremely 
admired.  Comparing  it  with  the  genuine,  unconscious 
humor  of  Cervantes  and  of  several  English  writers,  I  con- 
fess it  seems  to  me  often  forced  and  grotesque.  The 
charm  of  Jean  Paul  lies  in  the  ardor  of  his  philanthropy, 
his  minute  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  his  tender  in- 
dulgence for  human  weakness,  his  scorn  and  detestation  of 
Pharisaical  pretensions  and  hardness  ;  in  a  sympathy  as 
excitable  and  as  boundless  as  his  fancy  ;  I  should  venture 
to  add, — what  sounds  like  a  paradox, — in  the  good 
sense,  the  soundness  of  judgment  and  feeling,  which  lie 
at  the  bottom  of  his  rhapsodies.  The  most  unsound  and 
fantastic  views  of  human  life  may,  as  we  daily  see,  be  ex- 
pressed in  the  most  prosaic  and  common-place  language  ; 
and  so  Jean  Paul  has  overlaid  a  world  of  genuine  and  hu- 
mane wisdom  with  bewildering  conceits,  and  far-fetched, 
unintelligible  illustrations.  But  the  reader  who  will  look 
below  the  surface  will,  I  think,  find  that  his  knowledge  of 
actual  human  nature  was  profound,  and  his  views  as  to 
what  human  nature  should  be,  benevolent,  elevated,  and 
consistent  with  the  soundest  reason  and  morality. 

The  novel  of  "Siebenkas,"  from  which  I  have  quoted 
so  largely,  seems  to  me  to  afford  evidence  of  this.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  true,  just,  and  of  every-day  application, 
than  his  view  of  the  sufferings  of  an  ill-assorted  union,  and 
of  the  illusions  which  lead  simple  and  virtuous  hearts  into 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


317 


that  abyss  of  misery.  There  is  no  resort  to  the  vulgar  ex- 
pedient of  crime  or  vice  ;  the  whole  evil  lies  in  the  unequal 
compass  and  culture  of  their  minds.  If  any  thing  deserves 
to  be  called  practical,  surely  it  is  this. 

Firmian,  the  hero,  is  a  man  of  great  genius  and  learn- 
ing, and  of  the  gentlest  and  noblest  nature  ;  living  in  pov- 
erty, not  in  English  poverty,  —  the  privation  of  certain 
articles  of  splendor  and  luxury,  but  in  that  destitution  of 
all  but  absolute  necessaries,  and  precarious  possession  even 
of  them,  which,  in  Germany,  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find 
combined  with  the  highest  moral  and  intellectual  culture. 
His  wife,  our  unhappy  Lenette,  he  has  loved  and  married, 
for  her  innocence,  simplicity,  agreeable  person,  tranquil 
temper,  and  for  the  possession  of  those  arts  and  qualities 
most  needful  in  the  helpmate  of  a  poor  man.  Unfortu- 
nately he  has,  in  the  housewife,  forgotten  the  wife  ;  and 
though  it  is  the  habit  of  his  countrymen  to  require  from 
women  the  virtues  rather  of  attached  and  industrious  ser- 
vants, than  of  equal,  intelligent,  and  sympathizing  friends, 
Firmian  gradually  wakes  to  the  dreariness  and  misery  of 
his  most  ill-matched  companionship.  It  is  thus  we  see 
him  in  the  scene  called  the  "  Last  Night  of  the  Year." 
The  character  of  Lenette  is  drawn  with  inimitable  truth 
and  finish.  The  inveterate  prejudice,  the  irremediable  ob- 
tuseness  and  contraction  of  mind  and  heart,  the  machine- 
like return  to  one  set  of  associations  and  thoughts  and 
feelings,  are  all  drawn  from  the  life. 

"  Siebenkas  "  is  one  of  Jean  Paul's  shortest  as  well  as 
best  novels,  and  perhaps  the  most  characteristic,  both  of 
the  individual  author  and  of  his  country.  It  is  partly  be- 
cause it  is  so,  that  it  has  been  so  largely  drawn  upon  for 


318 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


specimens  ;  though  I  fear  they  will  be  hardly  intelligible 
to  readers  unacquainted  with  Germany. 

I  have  ventured  to  omit  some  of  the  allusions  with 
which  Jean  Paul  superabounds.  The  multitude,  variety, 
and  strangeness  of  his  illustrations  form  one  of  the  pecu- 
liarities, and,  I  think,  the  defects,  of  his  style.  There  is  no 
language,  art,  or  science,  no  region  or  history,  that  does 
not  furnish  him  with  images  and  allusions.  They  prove 
the  vast  extent  of  his  reading,  and  the  readiness  and  ex- 
cursiveness  of  his  fancy  ;  but  a  pure  taste  would  have  en- 
joined a  far  more  sparing  use  of  them. 

Occasionally  he  works  up  a  picture  by  minute  touches 
with  singular  felicity  (as  for  instance  that  of  poor  Lenette, 
p.  145)  ;  and  then,  after  this  Dutch  painting,  how  doubly 
striking  is  the  eloquence  to  which  he  rises  at  the  close ! 

His  works  are  so  numerous,  that  I  should  fill  a  page 
with  their  strange,  untranslatable  titles.  The  English 
public  are  indebted  to  Mr.  Carlyle  for  a  translation  of  the 
novel  of  "Quintus  Fixlein,"  (the  only  one,  I  believe,  at 
present  translated,)  and  for  an  account  of  Jean  Paul, 
worthy  of  the  subject,  in  his  "  Miscellanies,"  to  which  I 
refer  the  reader  who  wishes  to  appreciate  so  singular  and 
popular  a  writer. 


RUMOHR  (KARL  FRIEDRICH  FELIX,  FREIHERR 

von).  —  Pages  6,  76,  179. 

Is  descended  from  an  ancient  family  of  Holstein,  pos- 
sessed also  of  estates  on  the  confines  of  Saxony  and  Bohe- 
mia, where  he  was  born  in  1785.  His  education  was  as 
narrow  and  defective  as  that  of  most  young  nobles  of  his 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


319 


time,  and  seemed  little  fitted  to  produce  the  extensive 
learning  and  accurate  taste  for  which  he  is  so  remark- 
able. 

Baron  von  Rumohr  early  turned  his  attention  to  Art, 
for  which  he  was  gifted  by  nature  with  a  delicacy  and 
accuracy  of  perception  that  no  education  can  supply. 
When  only  fifteen,  and  without  any  historical  knowledge, 
he  is  said  to  have  detected  a  Coreggio,  the  genuineness  of 
which  had  been  denied  by  high  authorities  ;  and  other 
examples  might  be  given  of  his  extraordinary  accuracy  of 
eye  and  judgment.  During  the  French  domination  he 
gave  some  offence  to  the  authorities,  and  withdrew  to  a 
voluntary  exile  at  his  estates  in  the  North,  till  the  fall  of 
Napoleon.  After  the  deliverance  of  Germany,  he  went  to 
Italy,  and  in  1827  gave  to  the  world  the  result  of  his  in- 
quiries. His  great  work,  "  Italianische  Forschungen," 
(Italian  Researches,)  is  now  universally  recognised  as  pos- 
sessing the  highest  authority  in  Art.  It  contains,  in  the 
first  place,  a  most  valuable  discussion  on  the  principle  of 
the  beautiful  and  the  ideal  in  Art.  He  maintains  that  it  is 
from  individual  objects  only  that  the  artist  can  derive  his 
forms  ;  and  provided  those  forms  are  properly  selected, 
with  reference  to  the  subject  treated,  the  closer  the  imi- 
tation is  to  nature  the  better.  He  then  passes  from  the 
theoretical  to  the  historical  part  of  his  subject,  and  in  that 
he  gives  some  most  accurate  and  striking  details  as  to  the 
remains  of  early  Italian  sculpture.  The  light  thrown  on 
the  works  of  the  Sienese  painters,  and  on  the  character  of 
Giotto,  is  also  most  important.  The  real  merit  and  value 
of  the  school  of  Siena  has  been  obscured  by  the  subsequent 
renown  of  that  of  Florence,  and  by  the  fact  that  the  histo- 
rians of  Art  were  principally  Florentines.     The  third 


320 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


volume  mostly  treats  of  the  works  and  genius  of  RafTael : 
this  is  published  separately,  and  is  excellent.  Rumohr's 
acuteness  as  a  connoisseur  of  pictures  gives  great  weight 
and  authority  to  his  remarks. 

Herr  v.  Rumohr  is  author  of  several  other  works, 
among  which  the  most  remarkable  are  the  "  Geist  der 
Kochkunst,"  (Spirit  of  the  Art  of  Cookery,)  and  the 
"Deutsche  Denkwiirdigkeiten  "  (German  Memorabilia), 
from  which  the  foregoing  extracts  are  taken. 

The  former  I  have  not  seen ;  it  is  said  to  be  extremely 
amusing,  and  full  of  wit.  The  latter  is  a  singular  book, 
both  in  plan  and  execution.  The  hero  is  a  German  old 
bachelor,  naif,  pedantic,  and  formal,  with  a  great  deal  of 
good  sense,  and  a  sort  of  benevolent  quixotism,  which 
leads  him  into  a  variety  of  strange  situations.  The  book 
presents  a  minute  picture  of  German  life  in  the  middle  of 
the  last  century,  and  a  glimpse  of  that  of  France.  It 
may  easily  be  imagined  how  many  interesting  subjects 
come  under  discussion. 

The  passages  I  have  chosen  show  the  clearness  and 
soundness  of  the  author's  understanding,  and  his  superior- 
ity to  popular  prejudice  or  sentimental  cant.  His  opinions 
on  the  education  of  women  are,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  very 
un-German.  The  intellectual  place  assigned  to  them,  not 
only  by  common  opinion,  but  by  great  writers,  is  the  bar- 
barian spot  on  the  high  civilization  of  Germany. 

It  cannot  perhaps  be  affirmed  that  the  women  who  have 
come  forward  as  representatives  of  the  intelligence  of 
their  sex  have  always  made  the  most  discreet  use  of  that 
much-abused  instrument,  the  pen  ;  or  that  reasonable  men 
might  not  fairly  enough  object  to  intrust  the  business  of 
their  households  to  "  des  etres  exceptionelles."    But  this 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


321 


is  one  of  those  vicious  circles  in  which  human  affairs  are 
apt  to  revolve  for  ages.  A  woman  who  finds  herself  re- 
garded either  as  a  paria  or  a  wonder,  naturally  falls  into 
affectations  of  a  still  bolder  singularity,  and  loses  all 
sobriety  in  her  views  of  herself  and  of  her  social  position. 
But  when  she  sees  that  the  modest  and  conscientious  ap- 
plication of  her  faculties  and  industry  to  letters  is  regarded 
simply  as  the  performance  of  one  of  the  various  duties 
variously  allotted,  she  learns  to  think  herself  by  no  means 
an  extraordinary  person  ;  by  no  means  exempted  from  the 
homeliest  business,  or  the  most  ordinary  proprieties  and 
observances,  of  life  ;  by  no  means  superior  to  her  neigh- 
bour who  employs  her  time  and  understanding  on  other 
and  not  less  useful  occupations ;  in  short,  as  neither  de- 
serving to  be  stared  at,  contemned,  nor  admired ;  but  as 
entitled  to  just  so  much  indulgence  as  her  inferior  means 
of  acquiring  knowledge  may  fairly  crave,  and  just  so 
much  respect  as  the  excellence  and  utility  of  her  work 
may  deserve.  Things  are  approaching  to  this  sane  and 
sober  state  in  England.  In  no  country,  I  believe,  do  wo- 
men enjoy  more  of  the  highest,  purest,  safest,  and  most 
precious  of  all  liberties,  —  that  out  of  which  all  others 
which  they  ought  to  desire  must  grow,  —  the  liberty  to 
use  their  faculties  without  other  control  than  what  good 
taste,  reason,  morality,  and  religion  impose  on  all;  in  the 
way,  and  for  the  purposes,  which  they  may  deem  most 
useful  to  themselves,  to  those  to  whom  they  owe  their  first 
and  most  sacred  duty,  and  to  society  at  large.  It  is  true, 
an  immense  deal  remains  to  be  done  for  the  culture  of 
those  faculties ;  but  the  door  is  open,  —  there  is  no  lion 
in  the  way. 

Rumohr  shows  his  sagacity  in  pointing  out  the  vague 


322  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 

and  incorrect  use  of  language  as  leading,  by  inevitable 
consequence,  to  vague  and  incoherent  thinking.  It  is  so 
easy  to  dtraisonner  in  words  to  which  no  precise  ideas  are 
attached.  His  remedy  is  good,  as  far  as  it  goes  ;  but  far 
from  complete,  as  melancholy  experience  shows. 

The  "Deutsche  Denkwiirdigkeiten  "  reminds  me  more 
of  the  best  of  Gait's  novels  than  of  any  other  work  in  the 
English  language.  There  is  the  same  dry,  quiet,  natural 
humor,  the  same  formality  and  naivete,  the  same  shrewd- 
ness and  good  sense.  Rumohr's  range  of  subjects  is, 
however,  much  wider.  The  work  is  written  in  the  purest 
and  most  vernacular  German.  The  numerous  Germanized 
foreign  words,  which  are  found  in  even  the  best  writers, 
are  entirely  excluded  from  Rumohr's  style,  which  accord- 
ingly affords  an  admirable  study  in  the  language. 

Baron  Rumohr  is  still  living,  and  resides,  I  believe, 
chiefly  at  Berlin. 


SAV1GNY  (FRIEDR1CH  KARL  von).  —  Page  168. 

Born  at  Frankfurt  a.M.,  February  21st,  1779,  is  de- 
scended from  a  respectable  French  family,  which  settled 
in  Germany  early  in  the  seventeenth  century.  At  the  age 
of  thirteen  he  became  an  orphan,  and  was  taken  under  the 
protection  of  Herr  v.  Neurath,  an  intimate  friend  of  his 
father,  and  assessor  of  the  Reichskammergericht  at  Wetz- 
lar.  He  was  educated  by  him  with  his  own  son  ;  and  at 
the  age  of  fifteen,  made  to  learn,  by  question  and  answer, 
long  treatises  on  the  Roman  law  and  that  of  other  na- 
tions. This  barren  and  dry  mode  of  instruction  was  ill- 
suited  to  the  mind  of  young  Savigny,  and  he  was  glad  to 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


323 


substitute  for  it  the  lectures  on  the  Pandects,  which  he 
attended,  in  1795,  at  the  University  of  Marburg.  About 
this  time  he  seems  to  have  acquired  that  love  for  the  study 
of  the  Civil  Law,  for  which  he  has  since  been  so  dis- 
tinguished. 

In  October,  1796,  he  went  to  the  University  of  Gottin- 
gen,  and  attended  the  lectures  of  Spittier  on  Universal 
History,  and  of  Hugo  on  Roman  Law.  During  1799  and 
1800  he  travelled  over  Germany,  visiting,  among  other 
universities,  those  of  Leipsig  and  Jena.  In  1800  he  took 
the  degree  of  doctor,  at  Marburg,  and  became  Privat- 
docent  at  the  same  place.  From  this  year  to  1804  he  de- 
livered lectures,  as  professor  extraordinary,  on  the  Pan- 
dects, Ulpian,  and  Hugo's  "History  of  Roman  Law." 
Among  his  pupils  were  Jacob  and  Wilhelm  Grimm,  who 
speak  in  terms  of  great  admiration  of  his  powers  and  skill 
as  a  teacher.  Wilhelm  Grimm,  in  his  "Autobiography," 
says,  "It  appears  to  me,  that  what  so  powerfully  attract- 
ed and  captivated  his  auditors  was,  the  facility  and  vivaci- 
ty of  his  language,  united  to  his  singular  calmness  and 
moderation.  Savigny  spoke  with  great  fluency,  and  rare- 
ly consulted  his  notes.  His  clear  style,  the  profoundness 
of  his  convictions,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  sort  of  reserve 
and  caution  in  his  language,  made  an  impression  which  no 
eloquence  would  have  produced  ;  an  impression  which  his 
whole  aspect  and  character  contributed  to  strengthen." 

He  began  at  this  time  to  devote  himself  more  than  ever 
to  his  favorite  pursuit,  directing  his  attention  entirely  to 
the  sources  of  the  Roman  law  and  forming  his  opinions 
without  the  aid  of  commentators.  The  fruit  of  these  la- 
bors was  the  essay  on  the  "  Right  of  Possession  "  {Recht 
des  Besitzes),  published  in  1803.    In  1804,  after  leaving 


324 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


Marburg,  he  married  Cunigunda  Brentano,  sister  of  Bet- 
tina  and  Clemens  Brentano.  Having  refused  the  liberal 
offers  made  to  him  by  the  Universities  of  Heidelberg  and 
Greifswald,  he  visited  the  libraries  of  Heidelberg,  Stutt- 
gart, Tubingen,  Strasburg,  and,  finally,  Paris;  examin- 
ing all  the  authors  they  contained  relating  to  his  research- 
es. In  1808  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  the  University 
of  Landshut,  where  he  was  universally  beloved,  and  be- 
came intimate  with  Sailer,  the  great  theologian. 

He  quitted  this  place  *  after  a  short  stay  of  a  year  and 
a  half;  wishing  to  withdraw  himself  from  the  French 
power,  and  having  been  invited  to  the  newly-formed  Uni- 
versity of  Berlin  by  Wilhelm  v.  Humboldt,  then  minister 
of  public  instruction  in  Prussia.  Here  he  commenced  the 
lectures  on  the  Pandects  and  the  Institutes,  which  he  con- 
tinues to  give  to  this  day.  The  most  eminent  jurists  of 
Germany  have  been  among  his  pupils.  At  Berlin,  Sa- 
vigny  became  acquainted  with  Niebuhr,  and  the  friendship 
of  these  two  eminent  men, "engaged  in  kindred  studies,  was 
of  the  most  intimate  kind.  In  1811  he  was  appointed 
member  of  the  Berlin  Academy,  and  contributed  some  in- 
teresting articles  to  their  memoirs.  In  1813  he  assisted 
his  friend  Eichhorn  in  the  organization  of  the  Landwehr 
and  Landsturm  of  Berlin.  In  1814  he  gave  instructions 
in  law  and  political  science  to  the  Crown  Prince  of  Prus- 
sia, and  in  that  year  published  his  treatise  "  On  the  Vo- 

*  An  interesting  account  of  his  parting-scene  at  Landshut,  and 
of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  students  on  that  occasion,  is  given  by 
Frau  von  Arnim  in  her  "  Correspondence  with  Goethe."  —  Goe- 
the's Brief  10 echsel  rait  einem  Kinde,  vol.  ii.  pp.  171  -  188.  2nd  edi- 
tion. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


325 


cation  of  our  Age  for  Legislation  and  the  Science  of 
Law."* 

In  the  following  year  appeared  the  first  volume  of  the 
"  History  of  the  Roman  Law  in  the  Middle  Ages,"  a  sixth 
edition  of  which  was  published  in  1831. 

The  first  volume  of  the  work  from  which  the  extract 
in  the  text  was  taken  was  published  last  year,  the  second 
and  third  have  been  published  since. 

The  number  of  Englishmen  who  interest  themselves  in 
the  subjects  of  which  Herr  von  Savigny  is  so  eminent  a 
master,  is  so  extremely  small,  that  his  reputation  is  not 
likely  to  be  very  widely  diffused  in  this  country  ;  but  the 
few  who  are  competent  to  judge  of  his  proficiency,  enter- 
tain the  highest  admiration  for  his  ability  and  learning. 

His  style,  both  as  a  lecturer  and  a  writer,  is  regarded 
by  his  countrymen  as  a  model  of  purity,  clearness,  and 
elegance. 


SCHELLING  (FRIEDRICH  WILHELM  JOSEPH  von).- 
Page  120. 

Born  at  Leonberg,  in  Wiirtemberg,  in  1775.  He  stud- 
ied at  Leipzig  and  Jena,  was  a  disciple  of  Fichte,  and  his 
successor  in  the  chair  of  philosophy  in  the  latter  universi- 
ty. He  was  appointed  secretary  of  the  Academy  of  Arts 
at  Munich,  and  ennobled  by  the  King  of  Bavaria ;  and  in 
1827  he  was  appointed  professor  of  philosophy  in  the 
newly-established  university  at  Munich.  Schelling's  sys- 
tem of  philosophy  is  opposed  to  that  of  Fichte,  and  dis- 
placed it  in  popular  estimation.  As  a  lecturer,  his  elo- 
quence is  of  the  highest  order.    The  greater  part  of  his 

*  Translated  by  Mr.  Hayward. 

22 


326 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


writings  are  controversial,  and  have  appeared  in  various 
philosophical  journals,  or  as  detached  essays.  His  "  Phil- 
osophische  Schriften,"  in  one  volume,  were  published  at 
Landshut  in  1809.  His  doctrines  have  been  attacked  as 
pantheistical,  a  charge  from  which  he  defended  himself  in 
his  treatise  "  Uber  die  Freiheit."  Schelling  has  given 
occasion  to  many  misunderstandings,  by  using  forms  of 
speech  peculiar  to  himself,  without  explanation.  His  phi- 
losophy is  said  to  have  had  a  great  influence  on  the  actual 
state  of  natural  science,  its  tendency  being  to  lead  inquir- 
ers to  regard  nature  as  an  organic  and  living  whole,  and 
to  investigate  the  connexion  between  the  various  phenom- 
ena subject  to  our  observation.  On  the  other  hand,  its 
ethical  side  is  said  to  be  weaker,  and  his  admirers  regard 
his  system  as  still  incomplete. 

Schelling  has  recently  received  an  invitation  to  Berlin, 
from  the  munificent  patron  of  letters  and  art  now  on  the 
throne,  which  it  is  understood  he  means  to  accept. 


SCHILLER  (FRIEDRICH  von).  —  Pages  21,  57,  185,  23S. 

Schiller  is,  of  all  German  writers,  the  one  best  known 
to  Europe.  It  is  unnecessary,  therefore,  for  me  to  extend 
this  note.  The  English  reader  who  wishes  to  know  more 
of  him  has  only  to  refer  to  Mr.  Carlyle's  life,  of  which 
Goethe  thought  so  highly,  that  he  caused  it  to  be  trans- 
lated into  German.  The  nobleness  and  earnestness  of 
Schiller's  character,  his  zeal  for  knowledge,  his  pure  taste 
and  conscience,  and  his  affectionate  heart,  are  beautifully 
revealed  in  his  correspondence  with  Wilhelm  von  Hum- 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


327 


boldt,  which  indeed  inspires  love  and  veneration  for  both 
these  remarkable  men. 

Schiller  is  emphatically  the  poet  of  the  German  nation. 
Goethe  is,  both  as  a  man  and  a  writer,  too  difficult  a  prob- 
lem for  the  many.  Schiller's  merits  are  far  more  within 
the  compass  of  popular  apprehension ;  his  genius  never 
soars  out  of  reach,  and  his  character  presents  no  difficulties 
or  stumblingbloeks. 

One  of  Schiller's  most  remarkable  characteristics  was 
his  progressiveness.  I  cannot  resist  again  quoting  the 
striking  words  which  Goethe  uttered  to  Mr.  Felix  Men- 
delsohn, from  whom  I  had  them. 

"  Er  hatte  ein  furchtbares  Fortschreiten.  Wenn  ich 
ihn  einmal  acht  Tage  lang  nicht  gesehen  hatte,  so  staunte 
ich,  und  wusste  nicht  wo  ich  ihn  anfassen  sollte,  und 
fand  ihn  schon  wieder  weiter  geschritten.  Und  so  ging  er 
immer  vorwarts  bis  sechs  und  vierzig  Jahre  ;  —  da  war  er 
denn  freilich  weit  genug." 

["  He  strode  forward  with  awful  rapidity.  If  I  was  a 
week  without  seeing  him,  when  we  met  I  was  astounded, 
and  knew  not  where  to  lay  hold  on  him,  I  found  him  so 
much  further  advanced.  And  so  he  went  on,  —  ever  for- 
wards, for  forty-six  years;  —  then  indeed  he  had  gone  far 
enough."] 


SCHLEGEL  (A.  W.  von).  —  Pages  4,  10,  17,  29,  53,  71,  92, 
98,  120,  140,  172. 

SCHLEGEL  (FR1EDRICH  von).—  Pages  172,178.^ 

These  two  eminent  brothers  came  of  a  family  remark- 
able for  poetical  talent  and  literary  attainments.  Their 


328 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


father,  Johann  Adolf,  was  distinguished  for  his  eloquence 
in  the  pulpit,  and  wrote  fables  in  verse  and  hymns  of  con- 
siderable merit.  He  translated  from  the  French  a  work 
of  criticism  on  art,  —  the  department  of  literature  which 
his  son  was  destined  to  carry  to  such  perfection.  Another 
brother,  Johann  Heinrich,  was  •  professor  of  history  at 
Copenhagen,  and  left  some  works  on  Danish  history;  he 
was  the  successful  translator  of  some  English  plays, — 
another  line,  in  which  his  nephew  is  without  a  rival.  A 
third,  Johann  Elias,  was  the  oldest  and  most  highly  gifted 
of  this  elder  generation  of  poets.  When  a  boy,  he  at- 
tempted a  translation  of  Horace  and  of  Xenophon's  "  Cy- 
ropasdia,"  and  wrote  a  tragedy  called  "The  Trojan  Wo- 
men." He  settled  in  Copenhagen,  and  the  services  he 
rendered  to  the  literature  both  of  his  native  and  adoptive 
country  were  very  great.  He  is  almost  the  first  German 
dramatic  writer  worthy  of  mention.  It  would  perhaps  be 
difficult  to  find  a  family  which,  in  two  generations,  had 
furnished  five  such  industrious  and  able  laborers  in  the 
field  of  art  and  literature. 

August-Wilhelm,  the  only  surviving  member  of  this 
distinguished  race,  has  done  so  much  for  the  diffusion  and 
illustration  of  English  literature,  that  it  would  be  strange 
if  it  were  necessary  to  recount  his  services  here.  His 
translations  of  Shakspeare's  plays  are  consummate  works 
of  art.  Such  is  Herr  von  Schegel's  masterly  handling  of 
his  own  language,  and  the  exquisite  nicety  of  his  ear,  that 
he  has  in  many  cases  (for  example,  Hamlet's  soliloquy) 
caught  the  very  cadence  of  the  original.  With  no  other 
living  language  than  the  German,  perhaps,  would  this  be 
possible ;  and  even  in  that  it  is  a  wonderful  achievement. 
This  translation  was  begun  in  1797.    Nine  volumes  have 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


329 


been  published,  and  Tieck  has  undertaken  a  revision  of  it, 
and  the  addition  of  the  wanting  plays.  Calderon  pre- 
sented still  greater  difficulties  of  a  metrical  kind;  these 
Herr  von  Schlegel  has  triumphantly  overcome  ;  he  has  ad- 
hered to  the  original  even  in  metre,  rhyme,  and  assonance, 
and  has  combined  this  exact  imitation  of  form  with  an 
equally  faithful  interpretation  of  the  meaning.  The  trans- 
lation of  the  two  greatest  dramatic  poets  of  two  nations  so 
unlike  in  genius,  shows  a  talent  for  discriminating,  and  a 
power  of  handling  all  the  forms  and  resources  of  language, 
which  have  never  been  surpassed. 

Herr  von  Schlegel's  merits  as  a  critic  are  such  as  might 
be  expected  from  a  poet  accustomed  to  the  nice  analysis 
which  the  reproduction  of  the  highest  works  of  art  re- 
quires. His  lectures  on  the  Drama  have  long  been  known 
to  the  English  public  through  a  translation  which  has 
reached  a  second  edition.  In  1807  he  wrote,  in  French, 
a  comparison  between  the  "Phaedra"  of  Euripides  and 
that  of  Racine,  which  excited  great  attention  among  the 
critics  of  France.  His  two  volumes  of  "  Kritische  Schrif- 
ten"  (1828)  contain  a  mass  of  ingenious  criticism,  es- 
pecially an  article  on  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  which,  I  think, 
is  known  to  the  English  public. 

His  fame  as  an  original  poet,  though  considerable,  is 
eclipsed  by  that  which  he  has  earned  as  a  critic  and  trans- 
lator. His  beautiful  elegy  called  "  Rome,"  dedicated  to 
Madame  de  Stael,  is  among  the  choicest  specimens  of 
German  poetry.  Since  the  year  1818,  he  has  been  living 
at  Bonn  as  professor,  and  has  devoted  himself  to  the  study 
and  elucidation  of  ancient  and  modern  art,  and  still  more 
to  oriental  literature.  Since  1820  he  has  published  the 
"  Indische  Bibliothek,"  and  a  Latin  translation  of  an  epi- 


330 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


sode  from  the  epic  poem  "  Maha-Bharata."  In  1823  his 
oriental  pursuits  brought  him  to  France  and  England.  In 
1827  he  gave  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  fine  arts  at  Ber- 
lin ;  and  in  the  winter  of  the  same  year  he  repeated  these 
at  his  own  house  at  Bonn,  to  an  invited  audience,  among 
whom  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  admitted.  My  ear  was 
then  wholly  unaccustomed  to  German,  and  I  was  able  to 
appreciate  the  important  help  which  a  learner  derives 
from  the  distinct  and  finished  elocution,  for  which  Herr 
von  Schlegel  is  celebrated. 

Friedrich,  his  younger  brother,  was  also  chiefly  distin- 
guished as  a  critic.  His  first  large  work  was  the  "  Grie- 
chen  und  Romer,"  which  contains  a  discussion  on  the  fe- 
male characters  in  the  Greek  poets.  It  received  the 
praise  of  Heyne,  then  the  highest  authority  on  ancient  lit- 
erature, but  unfortunately  remained  incomplete.  His 
works  consist  chiefly  of  detached  essays  and  fragments, 
which  suffice  to  prove  his  great  learning  and  originality. 

In  1799  he  published  his  "  Lucinde,"  a  novel,  concern- 
ing which  the  greatest  diversity  of  opinions  exists,  —  dis- 
approbation being,  I  believe,  the  prevailing  sentiment. 
At  that  time  he  was  living  at  Berlin,  whence  he  removed 
to  Jena.  Here  he  first  appeared  before  the  public  as  a 
poet,  and  published  his  "Hercules  Musagetes,"  and  a 
drama  called  "Alarkos."  In  1802  he  went  to  Paris, 
where  he  gave  lectures  on  philosophy,  and  published  a 
monthly  paper  called  "Europa."  Like  his  brother,  he 
devoted  himself  to  oriental  literature,  and  also  to  the  old 
romances  of  France.  He  published  a  collection  of  the 
poetry  of  the  middle  ages  in  two  volumes  ;  and  a  transla- 
tion of  the  ballad  of  Roland,  from  Turpin.  He  returned 
to  Germany,  and  not  long  after  became  a  member  of  the 


OF  THE  AUTHORS.  331 

Roman  Catholic  Church,  —  a  change  which  made  a  great 
sensation  in  Germany.  In  1808  he  went  to  Vienna,  and 
was  appointed  imperial  secretary  at  the  head-quarters  of 
the  Archduke  Charles.  His  spirited  proclamations  had  a 
great  effect  in  exciting  the  popular  feeling.  After  the  po- 
litical wreck  of  Austria,  he  returned  to  his  literary  labors, 
and  gave  lectures  on  modern  history,  and  on  the  history  of 
the  literature  of  all  nations,  which  were  published.  They 
evince  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  literature,  and  great 
skill  in  analyzing  its  characteristic  peculiarities.  Prince 
Metternich  sent  him  as  Councillor  of  Legation  to  the  Diet 
at  Frankfurt,  whence  he  returned  to  Vienna,  and  contin- 
ued his  literary  labors  till  his  death. 

The  Schlegels  were  the  heads  of  a  literary  party,  whose 
controversies  were  sometimes  carried  on,  like  all  other 
party  warfare,  with  poisoned  weapons.  The  acrimony 
which  characterizes  political  discussions  in  representative 
and  debating  countries,  seems  in  Germany  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  literary  questions.  Let  us  hope  that  the  wounds 
inflicted  on  both  sides,  are  by  this  time  healed  and  nearly 
forgotten. 


SCHLEIERMACHER  (FRIEDRIC1I  DANIEL  ERNST). 
—  Pages  78,  148. 

One  of  the  most  learned  and  eloquent  divines  of  this 
age,  was  born  at  Breslau  in  1768.  He  studied  theology 
at  Halle,  and  after  living  as  tutor  in  the  family  of  Count 
Dohna,  he  entered  the  seminary  for  schoolmasters  at  Ber- 
lin. In  1794  he  was  ordained,  and  two  years  later  was 
appointed  preacher  to  the  House  of  Charity  at  Berlin. 
He  began  his  literary  career  by  translating  Blair's,  and 


332 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


afterwards  Fawcett's,  Sermons.  He,  however,  soon  took 
a  higher  flight,  and  published  his  magnificent  "Discourses 
on  Religion,"  (Reden  uber  die  Religion,)  from  which  the 
two  short  extracts  in  the  text  are  taken.  In  1804  he  un- 
dertook the  translation  of  Plato,  which  unhappily  the 
stormy  times,  and  his  consequent  disturbed  life,  prevented 
him  from  finishing ;  five  volumes  are  published.  It  is 
deeply  to  be  regretted  that  his  promised  essay  on  the 
character  and  philosophy  of  Plato  is  among  the  portions 
of  the  work  which  he  did  not  live  to  complete,  since  few 
men  in  modern  times  have  been  qualified  as  he  was  to 
fathom  the  depths  of  the  greatest  philosophical  genius  the 
world  has  produced.  Three  volumes  of  Schleiermacher's 
sermons  have  appeared  at  different  times.  All  of  them 
are  models  of  clear,  solid,  impressive  eloquence,  addressed 
less  to  the  feelings  than  the  reason  of  his  audience. 

He  declined  an  invitation  to  Wiirzburg,  and  went  as 
preacher  to  the  university,  and  professor  of  theology  at 
Halle  ;  but  both  the  studies  and  religious  services  of  that 
university  were  soon  interrupted  by  war.  During  those 
frightful  times  he  felt  the  evils  under  which  his  country 
groaned  like  a  true  patriot,  and  spoke  from  the  pulpit, 
"for  king  and  fatherland,"  with  an  intrepidity  which  the 
presence  of  Davoust's  bayonets  could  not  daunt.  About 
this  time  he  published  his  "  Grundlinien  einer  Kritik  der 
bisherigen  Sittenlehre,"  his  "Essay  on  Universities,"  and 
other  works.  In  1809  he  was  appointed  preacher  at  Trin- 
ity Church  in  Berlin,  and  married.  In  1810  he  was  ap- 
pointed professor  in  the  new  university  of  that  capital. 
Here  he  displayed  all  the  brilliancy  of  his  eloquence.  In 
the  great  and  coherent  rhetorical  structure,  which  was 
adorned  with  all  the  evanescent  graces  of  an  extempore 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


333 


delivery,  he  grasped  the  most  abstruse  and  pregnant  ques- 
tions of  science  with  acuteness  and  precision,  and  fol- 
lowed them  out  into  the  minutest  details  with  luminous 
order  and  distinctness.  In  1811  he  became  member  of  the 
Academy  of  Sciences,  the  Memoirs  of  which  contain  sev- 
eral papers  by  him,  relating  to  the  history  of  ancient 
philosophers,  (Anaximander,  Diogenes  of  Apollonia,  Soc- 
rates.) He  also  published  "  Darstellung  des  theologi- 
schen  Studiums."  His  last  work  is  the  "  Christliche 
Glaubenslehre." 

Schleiermacher  visited  England  in  the  autumn  of  1833, 
and  opened  the  new  German  church  at  the  Savoy.  His 
opinions  on  the  religious  condition  of  this  country  are  to 
be  found  in  the  introduction  to  his  "Discourses  on  Reli- 
gion." His  person,  like  that  of  his  friend  Niebuhr,  was 
extremely  small.  Schleiermacher  was  even  deformed; 
but  this  want  of  physical  advantages  perhaps  only  added 
to  the  reverence  which  the  refined  and  intellectual  char- 
acter of  his  countenance  inspired.  His  treatise  on  the 
Gospel  of  St.  Luke  was  translated  into  English  by  the 
Rev.  Connop  Thirlwall,  now  Bishop  of  St.  David's. 

Schleiermacher  was  a  man  of  ardent  piety  and  unsullied 
purity  of  character,  and  his  death  was  worthy  of  his  life. 

There  is  a  very  interesting  memoir  of  him  by  Liicke,  in 
the  "  Theologische  Studien,"  for  1834,  entitled  "  Erinne- 
rungen  an  Dr.  F.  Schleiermacher."  A  most  touching 
and  impressive  account  of  his  death  is  also  to  be  found  in 
the  "  Journal  of  Education,"  No.  XX.  It  was  communi- 
cated by  his  widow  to  one  who  is  remembered  with  affec- 
tionate regret  by  all  who  knew  him,  —  the  late  learned 
and  amiable  Dr.  Frederic  Rosen. 

I  cannot  deny  myself  the  satisfaction  of  adding  it 


334 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


slightly  abridged,  to  this  imperfect  record  of  so  much 
learning,  piety,  and  worth 

"  During  the  whole  of  his  last  illness,  (which  termi- 
nated fatally,  in  February  1834,)  his  mind  remained  clear; 
his  manner  was  calm  and  collected,  his  submissiveness  to 
every  arrangement  most  punctilious.  Not  a  word  of 
complaint  or  murmur  escaped  his  lips;  he  was  patient, 
kind  to  all,  and  at  all  moments,  though  an  air  of  deep 
thoughtfulness  constantly  overspread  his  features.  One 
day,  waking  out  of  a  slumber  induced  by  opium,  he  called 
his  beloved  wife  to  his  side,  and  said,  '  I  am  in  a  state 
which  wavers  between  consciousness  and  insensibility,  but 
internally  I  experience  inexpressible  ecstasy  ;  my  mind  is 
occupied  with  the  deepest  speculations,  mingled  with  re- 
ligious feelings  of  the  most  glowing  fervor.'  His  last 
days  and  hours,  indeed,  were  brightened  by  the  holiest  of 
religious  influences ;  even  his  dreams  were  the  reflection 
of  his  Christian  bearing  through  life. 

"  His  thoughts  were  filled  with  love  toward  his  chil- 
dren and  friends,  and  the  nearer  his  end  approached,  the 
more  did  the  fervency  of  his  affection  display  itself ;  it  was 
the  indwelling  breath  of  his  life.  '  Children,'  said  he,  '  I 
bequeath  to  you  the  counsel  of  St.  John,  "  Love  one  an- 
other; "  and  I  charge  you,'  he  added,  turning  to  his  wife, 
'  to  bear  my  farewell  to  all  my  friends,  and  to  tell  them 
how  heartfelt  was  the  love  I  bore  them.' 

"He  knew  that  his  last  moments  were  drawing  near; 
he  was  anxious  to  have  been  spared  to  his  own  yet  a  little 
longer,  and  he  was  conscious  that  he  had  many  struggles 
to  endure  before  he  passed  into  eternity ;  yet  he  was 
wholly  resigned  to  the  dispensations  of  eternal  love,  and 
looked  forward  to  the  hour  of  his  closing  conflict  with  a 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


335 


courageous  heart.  The  last  morning  of  his  life  brought 
with  it  a  great  increase  of  bodily  suffering ;  he  com- 
plained of  burning  heat  in  the  inside,  and  for  the  first  and 
last  time  throughout  his  protracted  pains,  a  murmur  es- 
caped his  lips,  'Gracious  Father,  I  suffer  greviously.' 
He  then  turned  to  his  family,  who  were  standing  round 
his  bed,  and  said  to  them,  \  My  dear  children,  leave  me,  — 
leave  me.  I  would  not  have  you  witness  this  scene  of  an- 
guish.' The  hand  of  death  was  on  his  features;  his  eye 
was  dim  ;  he  had  wrestled  with  death." 

But  the  departing  spirit  received  strength  and  light 
from  above  to  perform  once  more  the  most  solemn  act  of 
the  Christian  ministry.  Having  asserted  his  firm  faith  in 
the  expiatory  death  of  Christ,  and  received  the  assurance 
of  that  of  his  assembled  family,  he  called  hastily  for  the 
sacred  emblems;  then  sitting  up  in  his  bed,  with  a  clear 
and  solemn  voice,  "with  a  countenance  brightening  with 
increasing  animation,  a  glow  of  more  than  mortal  benevo- 
lence, a  radiance  such  as  never  shone  upon  it  before,  and 
such  as  no  words  can  describe,  he  began  to  pray,  and  to 
exhort  them  briefly,  in  terms  befitting  the  occasion.  He 
then  delivered  the  bread  and  wine  to  each  separately ; 
after  which  he  administered  them  to  himself,  saying  dis- 
tinctly and  audibly,  '  On  these  words  of  Holy  Scripture 
I  place  my  assured  trust ;  they  are  the  corner-stone  of  my 
faith.'  Having  pronounced  the  blessing,  he  turned  his 
eyes  on  his  wife  with  an  expression  of  inmost  love,  and 
gazed  upon  each  of  his  children  with  a  look  of  unutter- 
able sympathy,  adding,  '  In  this  love  and  communion  of 
souls,  then,  we  are  and  shall  be  one,  and  undivided.' 
He  sank  back  upon  his  pillow,  and  a  heavenly  smile 
beamed  across  his  features.  After  a  few  minutes  he  gently 


336 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


exclaimed,  '  My  spirit  can  no  longer  abide  with  you  on 
earth.'  He  spoke  once  more,  and  requested  we  would 
change  his  position  ;  we  laid  him  upon  his  side  ;  he  drew 
a  few  breaths  more,  and  his  eyes  closed  on  the  things  of 
this  world." 


SCHOPENHAUER  (JOHANNA) .  —  Page  223. 

Madame  Schopenhauer  was,  as  this  passage  from  her 
memoirs  shows,  a  native  of  Dantzig.  She  lived  for  many 
years  with  her  husband  at  Hamburg  ;  after  his  death  she 
removed  to  Weimar,  where  she  enjoyed  the  intimate 
friendship  of  the  late  excellent  Grand  Duchess  Louisa  and 
of  Goethe.  Her  house  was  the  resort  of  that  singular 
constellation  of  eminent  men  who  were  then  collected 
there,  as  well  as  of  all  distinguished  strangers. 

She  wrote  several  novels,  which  still  enjoy  a  high  repu- 
tation; especially  "  Gabriele  "  and  "  Die  Tante  ;  "  also 
"  Travels  in  England,  France,  and  Belgium,"  an  Essay 
on  old  German  Art,  called  "  Johann  van  Eyck  and  his  Fol- 
lowers," of  which  I  have  heard  the  highest  praises  ;  and, 
lastly,  these  "  Memoirs,"  published,  since  her  death,  by 
her  accomplished  daughter.  It  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
little  books  I  ever  read.  At  seventy-one  Madame  Schop- 
enhauer sits  down  to  record  the  recollections  of  her  varied 
life  ;  and  she  does  it  with  so  clear,  bright,  and  true  a  pen, 
that  we  live  in  the  midst  of  the  objects  and  habits  of  the 
last  century.  From  the  system  of  education  to  that  of 
ladies'  patches,  from  religious  observances  to  the  scarlet 
coats  and  three-tailed  perukes  of  physicians,  the  whole 
moving  picture  of  the  free  city  and  its  burghers  is  before 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


337 


us.  Human  life,  too,  is  there  ;  not  inflated  with  exagger- 
ations, or  shrouded  in  mists  of  sentimentality,  or  falsified 
by  a  spurious  originality  ;  but  true,  human,  checkered  life, 
with  its  common  allotment  of  smiles  and  tears,  its  quick- 
moving  lights  and  shadows,  its  present  good,  and  its  better 
hopes.  Madame  Schopenhauer  is  not  one  of  the  writers 
who  seem  to  regard  the  world  as  interesting  to  their  read- 
ers only  in  its  effects  on  their  own  mind  and  feelings.  We 
find  none  of  those  descriptions  of  the  emotions  and  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  author,  with  which  we  are  now  so 
often  entertained.  Not  that  the  study  of  a  simple  and  true 
human  heart  is  not  the  most  interesting  of  all  studies ;  but 
simple  and  true  hearts  do  not  occupy  themselves  with 
themselves. 

The  attempt  to  make  the  feelings  and  affections,  the 
illusions  or  the  aspirations,  of  one's  youth  a  source  of 
amusement  and  interest  to  the  public,  is  one  which  were 
better  discouraged.  Such  disclosures  of  what  Germans 
call  the  inward  life,  are  not  only  destructive  of  the  reserve, 
which  it  is  neither  safe  nor  graceful  for  a  woman  to  lay 
aside,  but  are  apt,  in  either  sex,  to  degenerate  into  false- 
hood ;  and  more  apt  in  the  one  in  which  the  desire  to 
please  and  to  interest  is  the  strongest.  It  is  not  the 
height  or  abstruseness  of  a  subject  which  renders  it  dan- 
gerous to  domestic  usefulness  or  feminine  reserve  ;  we 
have  before  us  an  example  of  one  whose  attainments  in  a 
most  profound  science  are  only  equalled  by  her  various 
skill  in  all  domestic  accomplishments,  and  the  blameless 
beauty  of  her  unobtrusive  life.  It  is  the  desire  of  being 
the  heroine  of  an  interesting  romance,  of  astonishing  by 
flights  of  originality,  that  seems  likely  to  indispose  a 
woman  for  the  retirement  of  domestic  life,  the  homely  mo- 


338  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 

notony  of  every-day  duties,  and  the  small  acts  of  undram- 
atic  self-sacrifice,  which  it  is  so  important  to  her  peace  to 
be  able  to  perform  without  even  a  feeling  of  reluctance. 

The  more  we  wish  to  see  the  sphere  of  her  mental  ac- 
tivity enlarged  and  elevated,  the  more  careful  ought  we  to 
be  not  to  give  to  that  activity  an  unsound  direction.  Of 
imagination  and  sensibility,  women,  generally  speaking, 
are  sure  to  have  enough  :  sobriety  of  judgment,  well- 
dhected  energy,  extensive  and,  if  they  please,  profound 
acquirements,  would  be  far  safer  possessions.  There  is, 
indeed,  a  sort  of  sensibility  which  cannot  be  too  profound, 
a  sort  of  enthusiasm  which  cannot  be  too  passionate  ;  but 
these  are  not  encouraged  by  watching  the  beatings  of 
one's  own  heart,  nor  by  recording  them  for  the  amusement 
of  the  public.  Their  legitimate  and  salutary  food  is  to  be 
drawn  from  the  far  higher  and  more  copious  sources  of 
Piety  and  Charity.  Let  the  heart,  weary  of  seeking  what 
it  finds  not,  drink  at  these  springs,  and  it  will  be  refreshed, 
strengthened,  and  satisfied.  The  culture  of  the  reason, 
together  with  that  of  the  larger  and  higher  affections,  is 
the  true  cure  for  the  most  serious  defects  of  women  in  do- 
mestic life,  and  for  their  most  serious  sufferings  in  a  life 
of  isolation.  If  their  tenderness  and  sympathy  were 
guided  by  reason,  by  steady  religious  principle,  and  by  a 
knowledge  of  the  structure  and  laws  of  the  moral  world, 
(without  which  nobody  can  possibly  serve  mankind,)  they 
might  not  only  escape  or  disarm  the  bitterest  sorrows  to 
which  they  are  liable,  and  improve  their  domestic  condi- 
tion and  influences,  but  might  bring  to  bear  an  almost  re- 
sistless force  against  many  of  the  evils  that  desolate  the 
earth. 

I  have  enlarged  too  long  on  this  "  fatale  Subjectivitat" 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


339 


to  use  a  German  lady's  words ;  but  it  forms  so  prominent 
a  feature  in  the  literature  of  our  times,  that  I  hope  I  may- 
be excused.  I  am  afraid  the  morbid  demand  for  admira- 
tion, and  still  more  for  sympathy,  which  is  a  disease  very 
incident  to  my  sex,  is  at  the  bottom  of  a  vast  deal  of  the 
internal  history  now  intrusted  to  that  tender  and  equitable 
confidant,  the  public.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  a  wo- 
man's heart  is  best  revealed  in  her  life,  and,  if  she  writes, 
in  the  tendency  of  her  works  ;  and  that  she,  of  whose 
healthy  sensibility  much  is  to  be  said,  will  not  need  to  say 
any  thing  about  it  herself.  Those  who  agree  with  me, 
will  be  delighted  with  the  brief  and  graceful  touch  with 
which  Madame  Schopenhauer  passes  over  the  tender  sor- 
rows of  her  youth,  —  the  Herzensangelegcnheiten,  about 
which  it  is  so  easy  to  be  eloquent. 

It  is  extremely  to  be  regretted  that  the  "  Memoirs"  are 
imperfect  and  fragmentary.  The  first  partition  of  Poland, 
the  American  war,  the  French  revolution,  the  general  war, 
including  the  frightful  siege  of  her  paternal  city,  and  the 
entrance  of  the  French  army  into  Weimar,  — these  events, 
and  the  actors  in  them,  Catherine,  Frederic  the  Great, 
Louis  the  Sixteenth,  and  Marie  Antoinette,  Napoleon,  and 
many  of  lesser  note,  pass  before  our  eyes  like  giant  forms, 
which  throw  a  shadow  over  her  pretty  domestic  pictures. 
The  remarks  are,  throughout,  those  of  a  sound,  clear 
mind,  —  the  morality  is  practical  and  pure. 


STURZ  (HELFRICH  PETER).  —  Page  214. 

Born  in  1737,  at  Darmstadt.  He  studied  jurisprudence 
at  Gottingen,  and  at  the  same  time  cultivated  aesthetics 


340  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 

and  rhetoric.  He  filled  the  office  of  secretary  to  some  dis- 
tinguished men,  and  went,  strongly  recommended,  to  Co- 
penhagen, where  he  soon  mastered  the  Danish  language, 
and  became  private  secretary  to  the  elder  Bernstorf.  He 
lived  most  happily  in  Bernstorf 's  house.  Here,  under  the 
eye  of  that  great  statesman  and  philanthropist,  he  enjoyed 
ample  means  of  acquiring  knowledge  of  men  as  well  as  of 
books,  and  he  rapidly  became  a  man  of  the  world  and  a 
statesman,  as  well  as  a  poet  and  a  man  of  letters.  His 
"  Recollections  of  the  Life  of  Bernstorf,"  written  in  1777, 
are  a  monument  of  the  gratitude  which  he  evinced  toward 
his  benefactor  on  every  occasion.  Tn  1768  he  accompanied 
Christian  the  Seventh  on  his  visit  to  France  and  England  ; 
this  journey  enlarged  the  sphere  of  his  knowledge,  procured 
him  the  acquaintance  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  both 
countries,  and  gave  occasion  to  his  excellent  ".  Letters  of  a 
Traveller."  The  confusion  consequent  on  the  fall  of 
Struensee  was  fatal  to  Sturz.  On  the  very  day  appointed 
for  his  marriage  he  was  thrown  into  prison,  where  he  was 
detained  four  months.  On  his  liberation  he  received  a 
pension,  on  which  he  lived  for  a  time  at  Gliickstadt  and 
Altona.  He  was  afterwards  appointed  by  the  Danish 
Court  Regierungsrath  at  Oldenburg  ;  and  after  the  ex- 
change of  that  province  and  Delmenhorst  for  Russian  Hol- 
stein,  he  was  created  Counsellor  of  State  for  the  Duchy 
of  Oldenburg,  with  a  lucrative  appointment.  But  neither 
this  advancement,  nor  the  society  of  an  amiable  wife,  nor 
the  reputation  he  acquired  as  an  author,  nor  the  sincere 
respect  of  his  friends,  could  make  him  forget  that  dark 
period  of  his  life.  The  recollection  of  his  sufferings  had 
sunk  too  deeply  into  his  mind,  and  had  destroyed  his 
health  and  cheerfulness.    He  died  at  Bremen  in  1779. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


341 


He  was  one  of  the  most  elegant  prose-writers  of  his 
time  in  Germany,  remarkable  for  refined  taste,  sound  judg- 
ment, and  an  agreeable  flow  of  wit.  His  style  is,  how- 
ever, somewhat  deficient  in  ease  and  simplicity,  and  his 
letters  and  lighter  works  are  deformed  by  the  frequent  use 
of  foreign  words.  The  best  edition  of  his  works  is 
"  Schriften  von  H.  P.  Sturz,"  Leipzig,  1786. 

The  eulogium  of  Bernstorf  in  my  text,  high  as  it  is, 
was  deserved.  He  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  have 
shown  themselves  capable  of  using  power  solely  with  a 
view  to  the  interests  of  the  governed.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  monuments  of  gratitude  in  the  world,  is  the 
column  voluntarily  erected  to  him  by  the  peasants  on  his 
estate,  whom  he  had  freed  from  serfage,  and  whose  con- 
dition he  had  labored  to  raise.  Bernstorf's  fall,  alluded 
to  in  the  text,  was  the  result  of  the  intrigues  of  Struen- 
see.    He  retired  to  Hamburg,  where  he  died  in  1772. 

He  must  not  be  confounded  with  his  equally  great  and 
philanthropic  nephew,  Andreas  Peter,  to  whose  enlight- 
ened views  and  moderation  Denmark  owed  so  much  dur- 
ing the  stormy  period  of  the  French  Revolution  ;  and  at 
whose  funeral  the  late  king,  Frederic  the  Sixth,  then 
Crown  Prince,  took  his  place  among  the  sons  of  the  de- 
parted. 

These  two  eminent  statesmen  wanted  only  a  wider  and 
more  conspicuous  field  of  action  to  have  been  as  illustrious 
as  they  were  truly  great.  They  were  the  enlightened 
patrons  of  literature  and  art;  the  zealous  promoters  of 
every  thing  that  can  raise  or  benefit  mankind. 


23 


342 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


TIECK  (LUDWIG).  —  Pages  7,  58,  95,  111,  200,  209. 

One  of  the  most  eminent  and  most  original  poets  of 
Germany,  was  born  at  Berlin  in  1773,  and  is  brother  of 
the  celebrated  sculptor  of  that  name.  He  studied  at  Halle 
and  Gottingen,  where  he  devoted  himself  chiefly  to  histo- 
ry and  to  ancient  and  modern  literature,  and  early  began 
to  display  the  genius  which  he  has  cultivated  with  such 
eminent  success.  During  a  visit  to  Jena  and  Weimar,  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  Schlegels  and  Novalis,  who, 
with  him,  were  afterwards  the  heads  of  the  Romantic 
school,  and  the  authors  of  that  great  revolution  in  poetry 
and  art,  which  has  produced  such  wide-spread  and  lasting 
effects  in  Europe.  We  have  seen,  in  a  former  note,  how 
much  A.  W.  Schlegel,  by  his  translations  of  Shakspeare 
and  Calderon,  and  by  his  critical  works,  contributed  to 
overthrow  the  French  despotism  in  literature  (already 
shaken  by  Lessing)  and  the  taste  of  the  eighteenth  centu- 
ry. Tieck  brought  into  the  field  yet  more  powerful  weap- 
ons ;  rich  productive  genius,  wit,  boundless  fertility  and 
brilliancy  of  imagination,  poetical  diction,  and  a  vast  ac- 
quaintance with  the  models  of  what  he  thought  a  purer 
and  grander  style  of  art. 

At  a  very  early  age  he  produced  his  "Abdallah," 
"sWilliam  Lovel,"  and  other  works  of  imagination.  These, 
as  may  be  supposed,  are  very  inferior  to  his  later  works. 

Tieck's  services  to  art  have  not  been  confined  to  one 
branch  of  it.  In  conjunction  with  his  friend  Wachenro- 
der,  he  produced  the  "  Herzensergiessungen  eines  kunst- 
liebenden  Klosterbruders,"  "  Phantasien  uber  die  Kunst." 
These  relate  chiefly  to  painting  and  sculpture,  and  he  ap- 
plies to  them  the  principles  of  the  poetical  school,  of 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


343 


which  he  was  the  able  champion.  He  also  wrote  "  Franz 
Sternbalds  Wanderungen,"  a  history  of  the  life  of  a 
young  artist,  under  the  influence  of  Italian  or  southern 
life,  contrasted  with  that  of  Germany.  Tieck's  opinions 
on  art  were  afterwards  rendered  more  distinct  and  pro- 
found by  his  residence  in  Rome,  Dresden,  and  Munich. 

In  1799-1801  appeared  his  translation  of  "Don  Quix- 
otte."  This  period  of  his  life  was  fertile  both  in  original 
and  in  critical  works  ;  the  most  interesting  among  the  lat- 
ter were  his  "  Letters  on  Shakspeare,"  which  unfortunate- 
ly were  not  long  continued.  He  likewise  published  a 
translation  of  the  "Tempest,"  and  an  "Essay  on  Shak- 
speare's  Treatment  of  the  Marvellous."  In  1814- 16  he 
published  his  "  Old  English  Theatre,"  in  two  volumes; 
and  in  1818  came  to  London  to  collect  materials  for  his 
great  work  on  Shakspeare,  to  which  "  Shakspeare's 
Vorschule"  (Leipzig,  1823)  may  be  regarded  as  an  in- 
troduction. It  may  be  hoped,  that  whenever  this  distin- 
guished poet  and  critic  shall  have  completed  his  labors  on 
a  subject  so  interesting  to  the  English  public,  they  will  be 
translated. 

So  many  English  travellers  are  indebted  to  Tieck's 
courteous  hospitality  for  the  enjoyment  of  hearing  him 
read  Shakspeare,  that  I  need  hardly  mention  the  well- 
known  beauty  of  his  elocution,  and  his  singular  dramatic 
talent.  The  vivacity,  variety,  and  truth  of  his  expression 
are  never  to  be  forgotten.  His  fine  capacious  head,  and 
brilliant  eye,  add  not  a  little  to  the  effect  of  his  reading. 
There  is  a  very  beautiful  portrait  of  him  by  his  friend 
Yogel  of  Dredens ;  one  of  the  few  which  leave  an  indeli- 
ble impression,  and  show  that  the  painter  has  received  the 
mind  of  the  poet  into  his  own. 


344 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


Tieck's  stories  appear  to  me  so  enchanting,  that  their 
small  success  in  England  is  a  riddle  I  cannot  explain  upon 
any  hypothesis  flattering  to  the  taste  of  the  country. 

The  "  Pictures,"  and  "  The  Betrothing,"  were  trans- 
lated and  published  in  one  volume,  by  the  Rev.  Connop 
Thirl  wall,  the  present  Bishop  of  St.  David's.  "  The  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountain,"  "The  Love  Charm,"  and  "Pietro 
of  Albano,"  in  another,  by  the  Rev.  Julius  Hare,  now 
Archdeacon  of  Sussex.  Several,  if  not  all,  of  the  tales 
in  the  "  Phantasus "  are  to  be  found  in  Mr.  Carlyle's 
"  German  Romances."  Yet,  in  spite  of  these  efforts  of 
the  most  accomplished  translators  to  make  Tieck  known 
in  England,  his  popularity  is  very  far  from  approaching  to 
his  merits.  These  are  altogether  peculiar.  The  fantastic 
grace,  the  mysterious  charm,  of  his  "Marchen,"  are  un- 
rivalled. They  seem  written  not  only  about,  but  by,  fair- 
ies, and  "  creatures  of  the  element."  He  manages  to 
combine  a  sort  of  infantine  simplicity  with  the  gorgeous- 
ness  of  eastern  imagery,  or  the  dimness  of  gothic  super- 
stition. They  have  the  engaging  naivete  and  the  daring 
invention  of  the  old  stories  that  lived  in  the  hearts  and  on 
the  lips  of  the  people.  Higher  praise  than  this  it  is  not  in 
the  power  of  words  to  express ;  though  the  unfortunate 
children  of  these  days  are  taught  to  consider  them  as  be- 
neath their  notice.  I  know  few  writers  who  more  power- 
fully stir  the  fancy  than  Tieck.  In  this  respect  he  re- 
minds one  of  Chaucer.  His  descriptions  of  nature,  like 
those  of  our  great  poet,  "breathe  a  spring  freshness." 
All  that  makes  up  the  charm  of  a  wood,  for  instance,  — 
its  verdure,  coolness,  fragrance,  and  dreamy  music,  seem 
brought  before  our  very  senses  by  an  art  which  it  is  ex- 
tremely difficult  to  define.    The  musical  element  in  nature 


OF  THE   AUTHORS.  345 

is,  indeed,  the  one  which  seems  to  predominate  in  his 
soul ;  it  flows,  like  the  murmuring  of  water,  through  all 
his  works.  As  Goethe's  genius  manifested  itself  preemi- 
nently in  the  plastic,  so  does  Tieck's  in  the  musical ;  his 
words  bring  sounds  to  the  ear,  as  Goethe's  do  form  to 
the  eye. 

I  might  mention,  however,  as  an  illustration  of  his  pow- 
er of  painting,  the  scene  in  the  "Pokal,"  where  the  en- 
chanter shows  the  enamoured  youth  the  face  of  his  be- 
loved. The  rising  of  the  rosy  vapor  out  of  the  cup,  and 
its  gradual  condensation  into  the  sweet  features  of  the 
beautiful  girl,  is  a  piece  of  the  most  exquisite  sorcery. 

My  extracts  do  not  present  the  author  under  this  aspect. 
I  did  not  choose  to  mutilate  his  charming  stories,  and 
therefore  took  fragments  of  conversations  from  what  must, 
after  all,  be  regarded  as  his  masterpiece,  the  "Phantasus," 
which  is  a  sort  of  Decameron.  A  party  of  friends  are 
assembled  in  a  country-house,  where  they  talk  and  tell 
stories.  The  main  object  of  the  author  seems  to  be  to 
make  war  on  the  shallow  pretension  to  superior  lights  and 
virtues,  on  fashionable  affectations,  and  on  cant  of  all  sorts. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  "  polemical  poetry,"  as  the  Ger- 
mans call  it,  in  his  dramas,  which  are  founded  on  old  sto- 
ries, such  as  his  "  Bluebeard,"  "  Puss  in  Boots,"  "Em- 
peror Octavian,"  etc.  I  must  confess,  however,  that 
Tieck's  wit  seems  to  me  less  admirable  than  his  fancy 
and  his  tenderness.  But  I  am  aware  that  it  is  more  diffi- 
cult to  appreciate  the  wit  of  another  nation,  than  any 
other  quality. 

The  list  of  Tieck's  "  Novellen,"  or  Tales,  is  too  long  to 
insert  here.  Among  the  most  beautiful  of  them  I  may 
mention  the  "  Dichterleben,"  (Poet's  life,)  — a  Trilogy 


346 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


illustrating  the  life  of  Shakspeare.  The  scene  of  the 
first  story  lies  at  Kenilworth,  and  introduces  us  to  the  in- 
fant poet  and  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  second  represents 
his  youth,  his  friendship  for  Southampton,  and  the  devel- 
opement  of  his  genius.  The  third,  his  maturer  age. 
The  characters  of  Greene  and  Marlowe,  in  the  latter,  are 
drawn  with  the  hand  of  a  master.  The  death  of  Camoens 
forms  the  subject  of  another  not  less  beautiful  tale.  All 
this  class  of  Tieck's  novels  are  vehicles  for  refined  specu- 
lations on  art  and  its  subjects,  which  perhaps  unfit  them 
for  England. 

His  longest  and,  as  many  think,  best  novel,  the  "  War 
in  the'Cevennes,"  is  unhappily  not  finished.  He  published 
last  year,  "  Vittoria  Accorombona,"  which  I  have  not 
read. 

I  believe  it  was  this  novel  which  furnished  the  King  of 
Prussia  with  an  occasion  for  one  of  those  acts  which  ex- 
cite the  gratitude  of  all  who  care  for  letters  or  art 
While  I  was  in  Germany  last  year,  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing,  that,  on  receiving  a  copy  of  it  from  the  author, 
the  king  wrote  him  a  very  kind  letter,  assuring  to  him  a 
pension  of  a  thousand  dollars  a  year  for  his  life,  and,  with 
a  grace  which  doubled  the  value  of  his  bounty,  annexed 
the  condition  that  the  poet  should  visit  him  once  a  year  at 
Sans-Souci,  allotting  two  hundred  Friedrichs-d'or  for  the 
expenses  of  each  journey. 

T  will  not  vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  the  sums :  but  1 
can  speak  to  the  general  satisfaction  which  such  a  tribute 
to  the  greatest  living  poet  of  Germany,  and  such  a  solici- 
tude for  the  comfort  of  his  declining  years,  diffused. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


347 


WALTER  (FERDINAND).  —  Page  222. 

Professor  Walter  is  an  eminent  jurist  at  the  university 
of  Bonn,  where  his  lectures  on  Canon  Law  are  much  ad- 
mired. The  book  from  which  the  extract  is  taken  is  said 
to  contain  a  remarkably  clear  history  of  the  origin  and 
growth  of  the  Roman  law. 


WEBER  (KARL  MARIA  von).- Page  53. 

Karl  Maria,  son  of  Major  von  Weber,  was  born  at  Eutin 
in  Holstein,  in  1786.  He  early  divided  the  leisure  left 
him  from  severer  studies  between  painting  and  music,  in 
the  former  of  which  he  made  considerable  progress.  But, 
unconsciously,  music  gained  exclusive  possession  of  the 
young  artist;  and  his  father,  perceiving  the  strong  bent  of 
his  genius,  sedulously  cultivated  it,  at  the  expense  of  great 
personal  sacrifices,  and,  in  all  the  changes  of  residence 
which  his  profession  occasioned,  sought  out  the  best  mas- 
ters for  his  son.  When  the  little  Karl  was  only  twelve 
years  of  age  he  composed  six  fughetti,  which  his  father, 
to  encourage  him,  caused  to  be  printed.  They  were  fa- 
vorably noticed  in  the  Leipz.  Musikal.  Zeitung.  His  fa- 
ther then  took  him  to  Munich,  and  placed  him  under  the 
tuition  of  a  singing  master,  and  the  eminent  organist  Kal- 
cher,  to  whose  instructions  he  was  greatly  indebted  for  his 
future  command  of  the  resources  of  his  art.  Weber's 
labors  were  unremitting.  His  taste  for  dramatic  music 
now  began  to  manifest  itself,  and  he  wrote,  under  the  eye 
of  his  instructor,  an  opera  called  "Die  Macht  der  Liebe 
und  des  Weins."   At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  composed  his 


348 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


opera  of  the  "  Waldmadchen,"  which  was  performed  in 
the  year  1800,  at  Prague,  Vienna,  Petersburg,  etc.,  with 
great  success ;  he  himself  afterwards  regarded  it  as  a 
crude  attempt,  though  not  wholly  deficient  in  originality. 
Weber's  active,  excitable  mind  was  now  called  off  from 
music  by  the  invention  of  the  art  of  printing  on  stone,  which 
he  thought  he  had  shared  with  Sennefelder,  and  even  that 
he  had  discovered  a  more  convenient  process.  In  order 
to  prosecute  his  schemes  he  went  to  Freyberg,  where  the 
materials  were  at  hand  ;  but  the  mechanical  part  of  the 
employment  soon  disgusted  him,  and  he  returned  with 
double  zest  to  composition. 

In  1802  he  made  a  musical  tour  with  his  father  to  Leip- 
zig, Hamburg,  and  Holstein,  collecting  and  studying  with 
indefatigable  zeal  theoretical  works  on  music. 

He  now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  took  his  place  alone 
in  the  musical  world  of  Vienna,  where  he  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Haydn,  and  of  the  Abbe  Vogler,  who,  cap- 
tivated by  his  earnest  desire  for  improvement,  cordially 
unlocked  to  him  all  the  treasures  of  his  knowledge.  By 
his  advice,  the  young  artist  gave  up,  for  the  present,  the 
composition  of  great  works,  and  devoted  himself  for  near- 
ly two  years  to  the  incessant  and  unwearied  study  of  the 
great  masters,  whose  works  he  subjected  to  the  most  ac- 
curate analysis.  He  also  perfected  himself  in  pianoforte- 
playing.  He  was  now  invited  to  Breslau  as  music  di- 
rector, and  composed  there  his  opera  of  "  Riibezahl."  In 
1806  Duke  Eugene  of  Wurtemberg  attracted  him  to 
Karlsruhe  in  Silesia,  where  he  produced  various  works. 
The  pretty  theatre  and  excellent  chapel  being  ruined  by 
the  common  destroyer,  war,  he  set  out  on  an  artistical 
tour,  whence  he  returned  to  the  house  of  his  patron,  Duke 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


349 


Eugene,  at  Stuttgard.  We  cannot  follow  him  through  all 
the  steps  of  his  progress.  In  1816  he  was  at  Berlin, 
where  he  composed  his  three  splendid  pianoforte  sonatas. 
In  1817  he  undertook  the  management  of  the  German 
opera  in  Dresden,  and  composed  various  works,  among 
which  we  can  only  particularize  the  "  Freyschiitz,"  which 
was  first  performed  at  Berlin,  in  1821.  Here  too  he  com- 
posed "Preziosa."  The  enormous  success  of  the  "Frey- 
schiitz" brought  him  a  commission  to  compose  a  new 
opera  for  Vienna,  and  Frau  von  Chezy  wrote  the  libretto  of 
"  Euryanthe,"  from  an  old  French  story.  It  occupied 
him  for  nearly  two  years,  at  the  end  of  which  he  went  to 
Vienna,  and  directed  the  performance  of  it  himself.  In 
1824  he  received  the  commission  to  compose  "  Oberon  " 
for  the  London  stage.  In  order  to  fit  himself  for  this 
work  he  applied  himself  to  the  study  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. Already,  however,  the  incessant  activity  and  la- 
bor of  his  mind  had  begun  the  work  of  destruction  on  his 
delicate  frame.  In  1825  he  went  to  Ems,  but  without 
any  permanent  good  result.  In  1826  he  came,  already 
suffering  from  disease  in  the  lungs,  to  London,  finished 
his  beautiful  work,  and,  on  the  very  day  when  the  "  Frey- 
schiitz "  was  to  be  performed  for  his  benefit,  his  pure  and 
melodious  soul  took  its  flight. 

He  was  attended  in  his  last  illness  by  Dr.  Kind,  a 
young  German  physician  resident  in  London,  now  also  no 
more,  and  nephew  of  Weber's  friend  Kind  the  poet. 
From  him  I  heard  many  particulars  of  the  affecting  and 
beautiful  close  of  Weber's  blameless  life.  His  conscience 
was  as  delicate  as  his  taste  ;  his  affections  as  overflowing 
as  his  genius.  He  was  meek  and  unoffending,  and  exact 
in  the  performance  of  all  his  duties. 


350 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


The  two  little  volumes  from  which  the  letter  in  the  text 
is  taken,  contain  other  proofs  of  Weber's  exquisite  moral 
sensibility.  I  hesitated  between  this  and  a  letter  to  a  man 
who  had  brought  unjust  charges  against  him.  The  truly 
Christian  temper,  the  scrupulous'  veracity,  the  humility 
and  charity  that  it  breathes,  are  inexpressibly  touching. 

But  it  is  not  alone  as  showing  the  sweetness,  purity,  and 
rectitude  which  marked  the  character  of  the  composer  of 
the  "  Freyschiitz"  and  the  "Oberon,"  that  this  letter  is 
interesting ;  the  views  it  contains  of  the  character,  voca- 
tion, and  duties  of  an  artist  are  well  worthy  of  serious  con- 
sideration. The  establishment  of  singing-schools,  and  the 
general  cultivation  of  music,  will  not,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
realize  the  expectations  of  those  who  look  to  them  for 
important  moral  results,  until  the  opinions  and  conduct  of 
the  public  are  changed  as  to  the  province  of  art,  and  the 
place  allotted  to  artists.  I  am  far,  indeed,  from  thinking 
that  a  currency  in  what  is  called  good  society  would  be 
for  the  advantage  of  either.  Society  ought  to  reverence 
the  possessors  of  that  sublime  secret  called  genius  too 
highly  to  imagine  that  they  can  have  any  thing  to  gain  by 
its  intercourse.  But  though  its  flattery  and  caresses  can 
do  them  nothing  but  harm,  it  ought  to  abstain  from  de- 
stroying their  independence  of  spirit  by  its  caprices,  or 
their  self-respect  by  its  contempt.  Much  is  said  about  the 
humanizing  and  elevating  effect  of  art.  But  what  empty 
talk  is  this,  if  the  artist,  —  if  he  who  alone  can  give  form, 
vitality,  and  motion  to  this  mighty  instrument  of  civiliza- 
tion, is  to  be  regarded  as  the  inferior  of  the  very  men 
whom  he  is  to  lift  out  of  the  bonds  of  matter  and  of  cus- 
tom, as  often  as  they  happen  to  possess  some  extrinsic  ad- 
vantages which  he  wants. 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


351 


We  ought  to  try  to  come  to  a  clear  understanding-  with 
ourselves  on  this  matter,  and  to  establish  a  consistent  the- 
ory and  practice.  Either,  as  it  is  now  the  fashion  to  re- 
peat, art  has  an  elevating  and  purifying  effect  on  the  mor- 
als of  a  country,  or  it  has  not.  If  it  has,  by  what  process 
of  reasoning  are  the  depositories  of  so  high  a  ministry 
talked  of  and  treated,  as  if  they  moved  in  the  society  of 
the  undistinguished  and  undistinguishable  many  on  suf- 
ferance ? 

If  it  has  not,  why  all  this  labor  to  get  up  a  taste  for  it 
among  the  people  ?  We  hear  constant  allusions  to  Ger- 
many, —  and  with  reason ;  but  Germany  is  consistent 
with  herself.  Art  is  there  honored  in  its  ministers.  The 
people  are  not  told,  here  is  a  man  who  can  create  that,  the 
mere  contemplation  of  which  will  lift  you  above  the  sor- 
did part  of  your  nature,  —  who  carries  within  him  the 
type  of  that  beauty,  which  has  power  to  raise  and  refresh 
your  souls  ;  and  the  next  moment  practically  taught  to  re- 
gard him  as  belonging  to  a  class  whose  position  and  claims 
to  respect  are  doubtful. 

It  cannot  be  that  he  is  degraded  by  receiving  remunera- 
tion for  his  labors ;  for  do  the  ministers  of  justice,  in  their 
various  degrees,  give  their  services  to  society  gratuitous- 
ly ?  Do  the  ministers  of  religion  found  their  claim  to  the 
respect  of  mankind,  and  to  their  station  in  society,  on  the 
gratuitous  character  of  their  ministry  ?  Why  then  should 
the  ministers  of  art  be  subjected  to  so  absurd  a  demand  ? 
Why  should  art  be  consigned  to  the  half-knowledge,  the 
half-zeal,  the  half-practice  of  a  feeble  dilettantism? 

And  if  not  the  pay,  it  must  be  the  pursuit  itself  that  is 
degrading.  It  must  be  that  we  regard  art  as  fitted  to 
amuse,  and  not  to  instruct  mankind,  and  allot  its  profes- 


352 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 


sors  their  place  accordingly.  I  do  not  mean  to  express  an 
opinion  which  of  these  views  is  right ;  but  I  wish  to  see 
something  like  consistency  ;  and  either  that  the  present 
theory  and  practice  about  art  as  a  moral  engine  should  be 
abandoned,  or  the  past  and  present  theory  and  practice 
about  artists  brought  into  conformity  with  it.  Till  then 
we  may  be  perfectly  assured  that  there  can  be  no  high 
standard  of  art,  for  the  plain  reason  that  there  can  be  no 
high  artistical  culture. 

If  any  one  doubts  as  to  the  state  of  public  opinion  on 
this  subject,  let  him  ask  himself  whether  the  parents  who 
train  up  physicians,  lawyers,  soldiers,  and  clergymen, 
would  see  with  complacency  any  intention  on  the  part  of 
their  sons  to  devote  themselves  to  music  or  painting,  as  a 
profession  ? 


ZELTER.  —  Pages  40,  86,  139,  and  163. 

This  extraordinary  man  was  for  years  the  friend  and 
correspondent  of  Goethe.  The  correspondence  from  which 
these  extracts  are  taken,  was  published  at  Berlin  in  1834, 
and  consists  of  six  volumes.  It  was  reviewed  in  the 
Athenaeum  not  long  after  its  appearance. 

Zelter  was  brought  up  an  architect,  but  his  love  for 
music  was  unconquerable,  and  he  pursued  it  with  passion 
to  the  end  of  his  life.  The  celebrated  singing-school  at 
Berlin,  to  which  he  refers  in  the  passage  quoted  (p.  139), 
was  in  part  established,  and  long  directed  by  him.  His 
letters  abound  with  criticisms  on  art  and  literature,  ex- 
pressed in  vigorous  and  almost  coarse  language,  but  full  of 
acuteness  and  originality,  and  remarkably  illustrative  of 


OF  THE  AUTHORS. 


353 


Goethe's  great  axiom,  that  "Art  is  one."  The  same 
principles  which  guided  his  practice  in  his  own  peculiar 
branch,  directed  his  judgment  in  the  others. 

His  attachment  to  Goethe  seems  to  have  been  the 
strongest  feeling  of  his  energetic  and  vehement  mind.  It 
was  a  sort  of  idolatry.  The  news  of  Goethe's  death  was 
a  shock  he  had  not  strength  to  resist,  and  in  a  fortnight  he 
followed  him  to  the  grave. 


ZIEGLER  (FRIEDRICH  WILHELM).  —  Page  33. 

Born  at  Brunswick  in  1760,  was  forty  years  an  actor 
of  great  celebrity  at  Vienna,  where  he  enjoyed  the  es- 
pecial favor  and  patronage  of  Joseph  the  Second.  He 
was  also  a  very  fertile  dramatic  poet,  and  his  pieces  di- 
vided the  favor  of  the  public  of  Vienna,  and  of  southern 
Germany  in  general,  with  those  of  Iffland  and  Kotzebue. 

Ziegler  also  wrote  some  political  pamphlets,  which  had 
considerable  success.  His  assthetical  works  are  of  no  val- 
ue.   He  died  at  Vienna  in  1827. 


THE  END. 


